


Perfect Storm

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [51]
Category: Glee
Genre: Attempted Rape, Gen, Homophobic Language, M/M, OT3, Threesome - M/M/M, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:32:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two fights on campus; emergency contacts; ambushed; the Browns in a war zone; milkshakes are required after doing battle; hangovers; escalation; an article, an interview, and a news segment; staking a claim; "You don't talk about him!"; kissing booboos all better;  too comfortable; "I could make that true"; nobody's high; melted brownies and rehearsal meltdowns; What Carole sees</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning! Welcome to hell week!
> 
> We're dealing with a lot of sensitive subject matter this week. As always, we welcome a dialogue about anything we post.
> 
> The episode (3x32) will be posted on Friday this week due, but there will be something posted every day Mon-Fri.
> 
> We'll continue taking questions on our [hiatus post](http://storyof3boys.livejournal.com/62005.html) through Friday the 30th, but can't guarantee answers to any questions left after that.

Finn hears the door slam downstairs and sits up. “Oh, shit. My mom’s home.” He can hear her slamming things around in the kitchen, a loud thunk that’s probably her purse, and some stomping. “Oh shit, Kurt. Shit. Your dad told her. Shit.”

“Well, fuck.” Kurt sits up quickly. “I hate to abandon you, but.”

“No, you should go,” Finn says, waving Kurt toward the door. “Quicker is better. I, uh. Yeah, I don’t want you to see this.”

“Okay, Finn,” Kurt says quietly, and then he slips off the bed and out the door, probably headed to his own bedroom, though Finn doesn’t hear the door shut. 

When he hears his mom storming up the stairs, Finn remembers that she was disappointed, but not furious, over the detention before, so maybe it won’t be as bad as all that. Surely Burt said something to smooth things over a little. 

“FINN CHRISTOPHER HUDSON!” Carole yells while she’s still making her way up the stairs, which she doesn’t do nearly so fast anymore. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Finn whispers. No smoothing happened, obviously. This? Is not smooth.

Carole finally appears in the doorway, looking even more pissed than she did that time he was a kid and she threw the jug of milk at the lawn guy. “Burt tells me you got _suspended_?”

“Mom, listen, I can explain!” Finn says, putting up his hands and trying to keep his tone as calming as possible. 

“Was there a _mistake_? Was it some other Finn Hudson who got into a fistfight in the middle of class?”

“Mom, the baseball players were talking shi— I mean, they were saying really nasty stuff about Kurt, ok? I had to do something!”

“ _Something_ is not attacking a classmate! It’s telling Mr. Schuester or Coach Beiste! It’s being the bigger person and not risking everything over some _words_!”

“But _mom_ ,” Finn says. “You didn’t hear what they were saying. You don’t understand. I can’t let them say stuff like that. It’s not just words! That, like, perpetuates all that same stuff we’re trying to fight with the school board!” Finn knows he’s raising his voice a little too much, but this is important. “We even talked about this in PFLAG. It’s never _just_ words when you’re the one having them used at you!”

“You’ve managed to contain yourself in class before now!”

“Well they weren’t saying my brother won the Prom King vote because he sucked a lot of dicks before now, either!” Finn shoots back at her. 

“That is— why would you _repeat_ that, Finn?” Carole shakes her head and points a finger at Finn. “Again, you could have taken _that_ to Mr. Schuester!”

“It’s not just names anymore, mom,” Finn says. “It’s not just words. Stuff like that? People can’t go around saying that. They can’t say stuff like that about Kurt. Do you know how things like that go around school? Don’t you think it’s bad enough for him there already, without adding _that_ to it?”

“So it’s better for him to know he’s the reason you’re suspended for two days?”

“ _What_?” Finn knows he’s sputtering, but he can’t help it. “Just… _what_? It is _not_ his fault. He is _not_ the reason that some douchebag says something like that about him! How can you even say that?”

“Maybe if you’d let it go, no one would have repeated it!”

“Are you _new_ or something? If they were already talking about it, it was already being repeated!” Finn’s voice has gone past raised to full-on yelling now, and he doesn’t even care. “You wanna know what they said to me when I said something? You wanna know what kind of shit was going to be going around that school?”

“Yes, let’s hear _this_ excuse!”

“Yeah, they asked if he started with me or if he saved me for last,” Finn yells at her. “That what you want going around the school about him? About _me_?”

“FINN HUDSON! That is— _why would you repeat such things?_ That is _disgusting_. He is your BROTHER.”

“Why the hell do you think I _hit_ that asshole!” Finn says. “Jesus, mom! They can’t say stuff like that about him! I didn’t want _him_ to be the next person who heard it!”

Carole seems to deflate a little momentarily and then draws herself back up. “No television, no laptop, no games on your phone. No iPad.”

“Fine, whatever,” Finn says. 

“And don’t go asking Kurt to use his!” she snaps. “I can understand how someone could get the wrong idea, though, if they didn’t know about Noah. Sometimes I think you boys are a little too close.”

“Wait, what?” Finn asks, his mouth dropping open as he stares at his mom in disbelief. “What? What does that even mean? What is that supposed to mean, mom?”

“You’re just all so very… you’re too comfortable. Sometimes. I would imagine you’re that way at school as well.”

“We’re _friends_ , mom! I’m not allowed to have friends now?”

“You don’t treat all of your friends the same way!” Carole closes her mouth, opens it, then closes it again with a sigh. 

“My other friends aren’t as important to me as… as… as _some_ of my friends are,” Finn finishes. “Some people just matter more, ok?”

Carole huffs again. “Don’t think you can get out of being grounded, Finn. Kitchen duty all weekend and don’t try to trade with anyone.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Finn snaps. 

 

Shannon hangs up the phone with Carla Rickenbacker and sighs. The Langes called, the Rickenbackers called, and now she’s got to call up Paul Karofsky. She flips open Casey’s file and runs her finger down to the updated emergency contact information and dials. 

“Hello?” a voice answers, and Shannon frowns. That doesn’t sound like Paul Karofsky. It sounds like his son. 

“Karofsky? David?” Shannon says incredulously.

“Yeah, that’s— Coach Beiste?” David sounds just as confused as she is. “Did you dial the wrong number?”

“Are you at home, Karofsky?” She reads off the number that she dialed. 

“No, ma’am, that’s my cell phone. I’m just leaving my joint enrollment classes.” He sounds even more puzzled. 

“Why is your cell phone number listed as Casey O’Brien’s emergency contact, David?”

“Well, it just seemed to make sense, since I was on campus and— wait, why do you need Casey’s emergency contact?”

Shannon sighs heavily. “There was a bit of an incident,” she admits. “Casey’s fine. Just a little roughed up, is all. A couple of guys ambushed Rickenbacker and Lange and him.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” is what she hears on the other end of the line, quickly followed by a “Sorry, Coach. Sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s all right,” she concedes. “Wanted to swear a bit myself.”

“Wait. Which guys?” There’s something about his tone of voice that makes Shannon think he already knows, or at least suspects. 

“It was Johannson and Fordham,” she says slowly. There’s a loud bang on the other end of the phone, like Karofsky’s punched or kicked or otherwise destroyed something. “Is this other number your father’s?” she asks after a minute. 

“Don’t worry about calling him. I’m on my way, I mean, I was on my way back to campus anyway, I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Thanks, Coach.”

The call ends with a click, and Shannon stares at the phone as she hangs it up. Nothing about this makes a good deal of sense, and what it seems to indicate doesn’t seem like a particularly good plan.


	2. Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings: graphic violence, implied attempted sexual assault, homophobic/transphobic language, very strong/offensive language**

“And then when that thing came out from behind the building? I was all ‘oh no!’ and David was all ‘calm down Case, you know they’re not gonna die’, but I thought maybe somebody might!” Casey says, and Rick nods in agreement. Alicia looks like she wants to giggle, and Taylor just shakes his head. 

“Nah, they wouldn’t kill off any of the Avengers, dude,” Taylor says.

“Well, but they _might_ ,” Casey insists. “Maybe one of the less awesome ones. Hawkeye or what’s her face, maybe.”

“Hey, I like what’s her face. Black Widow, I mean,” Rick says. “She’s tough.”

“Black Widow is my favorite, actually. No killing her off.”

“And that’s got nothing to do with how she’s dressed, right, Taylor?” Alicia snorts. “But she is the only woman. You can’t kill off the only woman, Casey.”

“Why not? She’d fight better if she wore normal clothes, anyway,” Casey says. “Her clothes aren’t very practical for battle.”

“Nothing flowy to get in her way,” Alicia says. “I think I’d look good in that. Maybe I’ll be Black Widow for Halloween.”

“That’d be real great,” Rick says. “You should do that.”

Casey wrinkles his nose. “Well, I still say Captain America is the best Avenger.”

Before anybody can argue with the validity of Casey’s statement, a flock of Cheerios appears out of nowhere and swarms Alicia, engulfing her in a terrifying mass of red and white uniforms and really tight ponytails. Alicia waves at all of them and makes some kind of hand gesture at Rick that might mean Rick should call her later. 

“They’re so scary,” Casey says, shaking his head as the Cheerios all disappear around the corner as a group. 

“Nah, they’re nice,” Rick says. “Alicia likes ’em.”

“It’s nice to watch them,” Taylor says absently, and he’s still looking in the direction all the Cheerios went. “I mean. Except for Alicia, of course.”

Rick makes a noise of good-natured disbelief. “You kidding? Alicia’s the best one to watch. She’s prettier than all of the rest of them put together.”

“Oh, I don’t know. That little brunette Maci’s pretty nice to watch, too,” Taylor says with a grin. 

“I’m sure they’re all very nice _girls_ ,” Casey says, rolling his eyes at the two of them and their girl-watching. “Can we talk about something _not girls_ now?”

“It’s important for Rick to know who’s cheering for him when he’s playing football,” Taylor says. “Right, Rick?”

“Definitely. Gotta know all the names and faces, Casey. That’s just good manners,” Rick says. 

“If you say so, Rick,” Casey says, dubiously. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know about that sort of thing.” 

The three of them are walking through the door to the back flight of stairs when there’s a hard shove from out of nowhere, and Casey goes sprawling into the space beside the flight of stairs, his backpack flying off his shoulder and skidding across the floor. Before Casey can even turn around to see who pushed him, he hears a yelp and then Taylor’s hitting the floor next to him. 

“What the hell, man?” Rick shouts from behind them. “The fuck you doing?”

“Fuck’s it look like I’m doing, Rick?” a familiar voice answers, and Casey does turn around then, wishing he could be surprised to see Johannson and Fordham. Johannson is between Rick by the stairs and Casey and Taylor on the floor, and Fordham just stands there with an awful look on his face, like a late night movie monster without a price tag on his mask. 

“Are you alright, Taylor?” Casey asks. He starts reaching for his backpack when Fordham lunges at it and gives it a kick. Casey’s heart starts pounding hard and he hears a weird high-pitched whirring noise in his ears. This is bad. This is very, very bad. 

“Let ’em alone,” Rick’s saying, and then Johannson gives _him_ a shove.

“Or you can fuck off and mind your own business,” Johannson says. “This hasn’t got anything to do with you. This is between us, the faggot, and the freakshow.”

Casey sees Taylor trying to crawl across the floor to his backpack, and he almost makes it, too, before Fordham notices and stomps on his hand, then kicks the backpack away. Taylor yells, and then Casey yells, and then Rick yells and throws a punch at Johannson, and that’s when it all really starts to go to pieces. 

Johannson barely staggers when Rick’s fist glances off the side of his face, but when Johannson punches Rick in the stomach, Rick doubles over with an awful noise. Casey looks over at Taylor, who tilts his head barely at Fordham before starting to scramble to his feet. Casey does the same, using the wall behind him to get up quickly, but he tries to catch Taylor’s eye again so he can warn him not to try anything with Fordham other than running like crazy. Casey tries to edge along the wall, maybe get to the stairs or just make Fordham _think_ that’s the way he’s going, so he can run for the door.

“You two freaks think you’re going somewhere?” Fordham asks, and his voice is that horrible conversational voice again, the one that Casey knows now is the _danger_ voice. 

Casey looks over at Taylor and just says, “Run.”

“Not up the stairs,” Taylor says, running towards Fordham’s left before switching directions when he’s almost even with Fordham, trying to dart around. Fordham’s arm shoots out and catches Taylor in the shoulder, knocking him back, and when Casey tries to duck around the other side, he catches a fist in the breastbone and goes down gasping for breath. Casey curls up, trying to breathe, and he sees Rick against the stairs, Johannson kicking him in the ribs. 

“Stay down,” Johannson’s screaming at Rick, and Rick doesn’t look like he’s in much of a position to argue. “The fuck happened to you, Rick? You used to be cool, now you’re hanging out with fags and I don’t even know what to call that thing,” he says, flinging his arm in Taylor’s direction. Taylor, at least, is still on his feet, Casey sees, and maybe that’s something. Maybe Taylor will get out of there.

“Oh, I know what that thing is,” Fordham says. “That’s Cay–see’s girlfriend. Thought you were supposed to be a homo.” He turns towards Taylor, who sneers at him. 

“I’m more of man than either of you will _ever_ be,” Taylor yells at him. “You’re nothing but scared, stupid little boys.” While Taylor’s talking, he’s edging to one side very slowly. 

“You’re a freak,” Johannson says. “There’s something seriously wrong with you. You’re even more fucked up than Karofsky’s little buttboy here. At least he doesn’t _pretend_ he’s got a dick, even if he likes to stick it in the wrong place.”

“Maybe freakshow here’s just confused,” Fordham says. “She dresses like a boy and she doesn’t remember she’s not one.”

Taylor’s still edging towards the door, eyes darting around the stairwell. “I know _exactly_ what I am,” Taylor says. “The only freakshows in here are the two of you.”

“I’m tired of this shit,” Johannson says. “Can’t we just fuck up the little faggot and then do whatever it is you wanna do with the freak? Gotta get this shit done before the bell rings again.”

Casey thinks he might be sick, because he can take a beating—he’s taken so many he can’t even bother to count them—but they’re not just talking about a beating. That’s not what they mean to do to Taylor, and that’s possibly the single most horrible thing Casey’s ever had to think of in his entire life. A beating is one thing; you can take it and you suck it up and you heal and you move on. He’s not sure you heal from what they’re talking about.

Casey looks over at Taylor again, and Taylor nods, and suddenly it’s like they’re talking to each other psychically and Casey knows exactly what they need to do. With perfect synchronicity, Taylor launches himself off the wall and Casey flings himself forward, and the two of them connect with Fordham at the same time. Casey doesn’t see exactly where Taylor hits, maybe somewhere around Fordham’s throat, but Casey just rams his whole body, shoulder first, into Fordham’s gut, digging in fists and elbows and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Fordham makes an “oof” sound like he’s lost some of his breath, and then his whole arm goes around Casey’s neck, squeezing it in the crook of his elbow as he picks Casey up off the ground. Casey kicks his legs, swinging them back hard and connecting with Fordham’s legs and body, but he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he doesn’t know where Taylor is, and this is so very, very bad.

 

Taylor knows from the minute he hits the floor that he can’t stop fighting. It doesn’t matter what either of them say, or what they do, he can’t stop. When they rush Fordham, Taylor digs his knuckles into Fordham’s throat, and that’s enough to let Taylor dart around him, closer to the door. 

He sees Fordham grab Casey, hoisting him off the floor, but the best thing Taylor can do now, for himself and for all of them, is to try to get back out into the hallway. Before he can get through the door, though, Johannson is there, both his fists sailing out to catch Taylor in the cheek and then in the stomach. 

Taylor staggers back, because whatever else happens, he’s standing up. One way or another, he’s staying on his feet. He looks over at Rick, who’s staggering to his feet, coughing. As soon as he’s up, Rick lurches at Johannson, ramming into him with his arms up so that Johannson falls forward. 

Taylor sees his opportunity, and runs the rest of the way to the door, wrenching it open and running into the hall. The halls are empty, and Taylor assumes the bell rang and they didn’t hear it in the stairwell. He takes off towards Coach Beiste’s office, because it’s close and he doesn’t know where else to even start. “COACH!” he starts yelling before he gets to the door. “COACH!”

 

From where he’s curled up on the stairs trying to catch his breath and trying not to puke, Rick’s got a pretty good idea of what’s happening and what’s maybe going to happen if he doesn’t get up and do something. If he lies there on the stairs while Jojo and Fordham beat the shit out of Casey and do even worse to Taylor, no way is he going to be able to live with himself. Still coughing and even gagging a little from that last punch to his stomach, Rick forces himself up onto his feet and then sends himself hurtling in the direction of Jojo.

Rick’s not as big as Jojo by a long stretch, but he manages to pick up a little speed and he gets his forearms up to provide a solid surface to hit with, so when Rick smacks into Jojo, he sends him falling forward. Taylor pulls the door open and takes off, and that’s something at least, something good. While Rick’s looking at Taylor running out the door, though, Jojo turns around swinging.

This time, Rick manages to fling himself out of the way, and that knocks him into Fordham, who’s got his arm around Casey’s neck. Casey isn’t looking so great, kicking his feet and smacking and punching at Fordham’s arm, but he doesn’t look like he’s giving up, either. Jojo throws another wild punch, and Rick ducks, and this time he gives Fordham a hard shove, too. It’s not enough to move him much, but it shakes him enough that his arm must loosen on Casey’s neck. 

Next thing Rick hears is Fordham screaming, “Shit! Shit! Fucker _bit_ me! Fucking faggot _bit_ me!” and sure enough, Casey’s got his teeth clamped onto Fordham’s arm, sunk in there deep enough that even with Fordham flinging his arm around, he can’t dislodge Casey. Rick’s gotta remember to tell Casey what an impressive chomp he’s got, he thinks, and then he turns back to Jojo and the two of them mostly just pummel at each other with their fists for a while. 

The door opens again, banging against the wall, and Coach Beiste is there, bellowing “STOP!” There’s another teacher with her, and behind them, Taylor, still looking freaked and really pissed, and Beiste looks ready to kick some ass and take some names. Jojo stops trying to punch Rick pretty immediately, but Fordham doesn’t even act like he’s heard her, and now Rick can see that he’s issuing a pretty hard beating on Casey. Casey’s not just laying there, though. He’s kicking and hitting Fordham any place he can hit, even though he’s got blood coming out his nose and his face is kinda messed up, and that’s when Rick realizes that Casey’s also screaming at Fordham, and Rick can’t help but be impressed by the string of swears coming out of otherwise polite Casey’s mouth.

“I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Casey’s screaming as he’s flailing at Fordham and trying to duck fists. “I WILL FUCK YOU UP! I WILL FUCKING FUCK YOU UP!”

Beiste walks over to Fordham and hauls him off of Casey by the shirt, Fordham still swinging, and when Beiste tries to grab his arm, Fordham swivels around and punches _her_. The other teacher gasps and Beiste puts her arm against Fordham’s throat and pushes him against the wall. “You sit down! Right now!” she yells. The other teacher is fumbling with some kind of phone or walkie-talkie or something, though her hands are shaking so badly, she can hardly use it. 

Fordham seems to realize he just went upside Beiste’s head, because he slides down the wall and onto his butt without taking another swing at anybody, his nostrils flaring like a pissed-off racehorse. Casey, on the other hand, doesn’t sit down, and he keeps kicking Fordham and cussing up a storm until Beiste just picks him up by the middle and hauls him off to the side. After a second or so of dangling in the air, the fight goes out of him, or at least, he stops trying to kick people.

“Sit down, Casey,” Beiste orders, much more gently. She looks around at the others and shakes her head. “Pardon my French, but shit.”

“They were going to assault Taylor!” Casey yells. “Just like we talked about in PFLAG! That it can happen to _anybody_! That’s what he was going to do!” He points at Fordham furiously, but he does sit and stay seated, on the far side of the stairwell. “And Taylor punched him in the neck or something, and it was _awesome_ , Taylor was just _awesome_!”

Beiste just frowns, still looking around like she can’t decide what to do. “Vicky,” she finally says, addressing the other teacher. “You called the office?” Vicky nods. “All right. You take Rickenbacker and O’Brien and Lange down to the nurse’s office, and I’ll wait here for Figgins.”

Once again, Rick’s gotta admit that Coach Beiste probably has the biggest balls of anybody he’s ever met, and he is sure glad he’s not on the wrong end of her being pissed off this time. The other teacher pushes open the door and gestures for Rick, Taylor, and Casey to follow her, so Rick offers Casey a hand up, which he takes. All three of them are a little shaky on their feet, Casey maybe the worst and Taylor the least, but they’re all walking out of there in more or less one piece, and that’s sure something.

As they’re leaving, Casey turns back to Fordham and grins, which is pretty creepy, what with the blood running down his face, and he says, “Hope you enjoy your AIDS!”

Rick can hear Fordham making some kind of yell like he’s freaking the hell out as the door closes behind them, and Rick offers his fist to Casey for a bump, and then does the same to Taylor. He probably wouldn’t have thought of Taylor or Casey as his go-to in a fight, but it turns out that the three of them make a pretty good team. 

 

After they’re all cleaned up, and Casey’s nose has finally stopped bleeding, and they’ve all been given a pop to drink while they wait for Coach to come talk to them, Casey announces, “They should make a movie about us. We’re better than the Avengers and they should make a movie about us.”

“How you figure that, Casey?” Rick asks. He sounds tired, which Casey understands, because he’s tired, too, and they’re all pretty thoroughly beaten up. 

“Well, you were magnificent out there, Rick” Casey says. “And Taylor, you were incredible. We were like the junior Avengers or something, and we won, and we’re awesome, and they should make a movie out of us.”

“Yeah, we did alright,” Rick says. “Could’ve gone way worse.”

“Yeah,” Taylor says dully, playing with the tab on his can of pop.

“Rick, you have to be Hawkeye, because of how Alicia is Black Widow,” Casey says. He thinks for a minute. “David’s Captain America, obviously, and I guess Miles is Iron Man. Taylor, who do you want to be in our imaginary movie?”

Taylor looks up and sighs. “Doesn’t matter, Casey.”

Casey frowns a little. “I just never fought back before, is all,” he says, a little more quietly. “It’s the first time I ever fought back.”

“Well.” Taylor shrugs. “First time I ever had to. Guess I should have known it was coming.”

“Oh,” Casey says. “I’m sorry. I just, I’m sorry. That’s really, really awful.” He exhales loudly and then sits without saying anything else, because he can’t even remember the first time somebody hit him, and there may not be any kind of way to bridge that particular gap in this conversation. 

“So what do you reckon’s gonna happen to them?” Rick asks. “Last time they got about five or so days of suspension, but nobody hit a teacher last time and I think this was a little worse than what happened with Puckerman.” 

“Will they even tell us?” Taylor asks.

“No clue,” Rick says. Casey just shrugs, because he doesn’t know, either, and it doesn’t really seem like he’s got a lot to add to this conversation that anybody much wants to hear. 

Coach Beiste knocks on the doorframe, though, and walks in, sitting down in the nurse’s stool. “Nurse check all three of you boys out?”

“She didn’t think any of my ribs were broken, but she said I might wanna get ’em X-rayed anyway,” Rick says. “Also, apparently I’m lucky I didn’t get the stupid knocked back into me with how hard my head hit the stairs.”

Taylor holds up one hand, where three of his fingers are splinted together. “I have to get my hand X-rayed. Right now they’re really swollen.”

Casey shrugs. “Not the worst I’ve ever had.”

“Well. I’ll be calling your, uh, emergency contacts in just a few minutes, but I wanted to let you know that Principal Figgins expelled Fordham already. Actually, the Lima Police arrested him.” Beiste gestures to her head. “He’ll be charged with battery, I think? Johannson is suspended for the rest of the year and Principal Figgins will be reviewing his case next week to decide if he’s expelled as well. Either way, you boys won’t have to deal with any of this for the remainder of the school year.”

“Oh, wow,” Casey hears himself saying. “They’re really gone?”

“The police will probably need your statements about Fordham,” Beiste continues, “but yes, they’re gone and forbidden from returning to school property for the remainder of the 2011–2012 school year.”

Casey’s not sure how to react to that, because it’s one of those things that’s either too good to be true or that came at too high a cost to really be celebrated like it probably should be, so he just nods at Coach Beiste. It shouldn’t have had to go this far before anybody was willing, or at least able, to do something, but maybe the fact that something is finally being done is a sign of things improving. 

Taylor sighs and shakes his head. “Doesn’t kick them out of Lima, though.”


	3. War Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors begin to fly; the Browns in the aftermath.

Miles is only just leaving the science lab when Alicia almost plows right into him in the middle of the hallway, because she’s looking at her phone instead of where she’s going.

“Alicia, you better watch where you’re going. You know Ma doesn’t like you texting while you’re walking!” 

“Miles! I can’t find them.” She looks up, her eyes wide and frightened. 

“Who can’t you find?” Miles asks. “Who are you looking for at this end of the school?”

“You! I can’t find Daniel or Casey, and Cara said Taylor wasn’t in class last period!”

“Well, first you better calm down or you’re gonna walk into somebody,” Miles says. “Again. And maybe they’re just skipping somewhere and don’t want you getting mad at them. Sometimes people do that.”

“Did you hear about the fight?” Alicia demands. “The cops were here, Miles! They arrested Fordham!”

Miles knew about the fight and that somebody got hauled off by the cops, but he hadn’t heard a thing about it being Fordham. “Oh, shit. Alright, now I see why you’re worried. You try just calling them?”

“Yes, Miles,” Alicia huffs. “They’re not answering. Any of them.” She waves her phone in the air. “No one knows anything.”

“Shit,” Miles says, mostly to himself. “Alright. Well, let’s both just calm down and think about this logically. Anybody say anything about anybody getting carted off in an ambulance?”

“No, no ambulances,” Alicia admits. “I heard something about someone screaming in the halls for Coach Beiste though.”

“Well, no ambulances is good, right? That’s a good thing. Means nobody got too badly hurt, so that means they’re probably still in the school somewhere,” Miles says, taking a deep breath. “So, you and me, we’re gonna just not worry about our next class, and we’re gonna look until we find them, alright?”

Alicia frowns, but nods. “We were over in the main hallway, and then I went to class and they kept going.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Miles says. He offers Alicia his elbow. “Come on, let’s go find those boys and see what trouble they got into.”

She nods and puts her hand in the crook of his elbow. “All right.”

Miles leads Alicia down the science hallway, peeking in some classrooms as they go. When they walk by the back stairwell, they can see Figgins and a couple of police officers standing at the bottom of the stairs, the door leading into the stairs propped open. Miles slows his pace and puts up his hand to let Alicia know they should stop and listen for a minute or two. 

“Let us know if we need to come back and pick up the other one,” one of the cops is saying to Figgins. “There’s probably enough evidence to press charges on both of them. This is the worst fight I’ve seen this year, to be honest, even counting bar fights.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Miles mutters under his breath. Alicia gasps beside him, and points a finger into the stairwell. “Oh, shit, is that _blood_?” he says, in a considerably louder voice, and Figgins looks in their direction.

“Children,” he says, stepping out of the stairwell. “It is time to head to your seventh period classrooms.”

“What _happened_ in there? Is that blood?” Miles asks. 

“Everything is being handled by the proper authorities. No need for the student body to worry,” Figgins says, and Miles and Alicia both look at him like he’s three kinds of stupid.

“Come on, Alicia,” Miles says. “We’ll start with the nurse’s office.”

Alicia nods and walks with Miles down the hall towards the administration wing. By the time they make it to the nurse’s office, Miles is admittedly more than a little bit worried. That was definitely blood in that hallway, and if the cops had to haul Fordham off, and if Casey and Rick and Taylor aren’t answering their phones, that could indicate some very heavy stuff having just gone down. 

Sure enough, they find the three of them inside the nurse’s office, and Miles’ first thought is that at least everybody’s parts all seem to be attached in the right places, and nobody looks like they need stitches or anything, which is a huge relief. The front of Casey’s shirt is covered in blood, Rick’s holding an ice pack on his head, and Taylor’s just sitting there with his fingers bandaged up and a shell-shocked look on his face.

Even as Alicia is throwing herself in Rick’s direction, Miles hears himself saying, “What the hell happened here?”

“We got in a fight!” Casey declares, but Rick just shakes his head.

“No, we got ambushed,” Rick says, putting his arm around Alicia sort of gingerly. 

“I saw the cops taking Fordham,” Alicia says. “I didn’t…"

“We had no idea where you three were,” Miles says. “Alicia was texting you, and none of you three answered, and you had Alicia all kinds of worried. Where are your phones?”

“Backpack,” Taylor answers. “I tried to get to it, but.” He holds up his bandaged hand.

“Fordham do that to you?” Miles asks. “I hope they lock his sorry ass up and never let him out. He’s a menace, is what he is. He belongs in jail or a zoo or something.” 

“Him and Jojo,” Rick says. “Not sure what’s gonna happen with Fordham and the cops. They’re charging him, is what Coach said, and neither of ’em are gonna be back at school this year.”

“He hit Coach Beiste,” Taylor says quietly. “He’s gone for good. Jojo might be back next year.”

“I bit him,” Casey says, sounding awfully proud of himself for somebody with a twist of tissue paper hanging out his nose and what looks like an impressive black eye forming, not to mention all the blood on his clothes. 

“He sure did bite him,” Rick says. “It was like a raccoon. Fordham couldn’t shake him off!”

“Damn, Cherry, good for you,” Miles says. “They do something for your face?”

“They wouldn't give us any Advil,” Casey says. “Taylor and Rick got ice. Rick still has ice.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Miles says, shaking his head. “Foots, what happened to your head?”

“Hit it on the stairs. I’m supposed to go to the doctor when my folks come pick me up, I guess,” Rick says. “I don’t feel concussed or anything, but I’m supposed to get checked out anyway and maybe get my ribs X-rayed.”

Miles throws his arms into the air and shouts, “It’s like a damn war zone in this school. What is wrong with people in this town?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Brown,” Rick says. “It’s messed up. They came out of nowhere.”

“They usually do,” Casey says. “This was bad, though. This was really bad. David is not going to be happy.”

“Well, Shep oughta be mad!” Miles says. “This is craziness. Did they plan this? Was this some kind of premeditated assault?”

“They pretty much admitted to that, yeah,” Taylor said. 

“Shit. How bad are the other two of you messed up?” Miles asks. “Cherry, your face looks pretty bad. You sure you don’t need some ice on it?”

Casey shrugs and says, “Not the worst hurt I’ve ever been,” like it’s not even a big deal how much blood’s all over his shirt. Taylor doesn’t say anything at all, and Miles shakes his head.

“I bet they knew,” Miles says. “I bet they planned it for that time ’cause they knew Shep’d be off at his dual enrollment and Hudson’s suspended.”


	4. Life Skill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milkshakes are required after doing battle; Reviving is required after vanilla chili.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Playlist tracks for 3x32 "Life Skill"](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLC586D935D69CF977)

Fights like this shouldn’t happen. Dave scowls as he parks his truck in the McKinley lot and climbs out. There shouldn’t be fights where people get arrested and emergency contacts get called, not at a fucking high school. 

The final bell is about three minutes away from ringing, so there’s no one walking through the halls to impede Dave, and no teachers to frown at him for running. He slows down as he gets to the administration area, heading toward the nurse’s office, and he glances through the window in the door. Taylor’s not in the room, but Rick is holding a drooping ice pack against his head, and Casey’s got blood all over his shirt and an admittedly somewhat–ridiculous looking twist of tissue stuck up his nose. Dave sighs and raps on the door once before pushing it open. 

When Casey sees Dave, he looks startled. “David! You’re here! I, um.” He looks down at his bloody shirt and back up at Dave. “I was in a fight! I didn’t start it, I swear!”

Rick snorts and gives Casey an incredulous look. “Yeah, Casey. Everybody knows you start fights all the time.”

“I heard,” Dave sighs. “Coach called. Taylor already go home?”

“His dad came and got him,” Casey says. “I think they’re going to get X-rays. His fingers got stepped on.” Casey’s eyes are a little too wide, or at least the one that isn’t swollen and red is, and he’s almost vibrating in his seat. 

“You need to go get checked out, Case?” Dave asks, because while he’s banged up, it’s hard to tell if Casey needs anything more than ice and Advil and rest.

“I don’t think so. Rick does, though. Rick hit his head on the stairs. He was _magnificent_ , David! He was like a… a _warrior_!”

Rick slouches down in his seat and looks mostly embarrassed, maybe a little bit proud of himself. “Yeah, I did a magnificent job of being punched in the stomach.”

“No, he fought hard, David, he did. Taylor, too! And David, I _bit_ him!” Casey says, and now he’s really bouncing in his seat. “Not Rick, I mean. Fordham.”

“He sure did,” Rick says, grinning. “You should have seen him, Karofsky. He was just hanging off Fordham’s arm by his teeth, like a possum or something, and Fordham was hitting him, and he just held on. Fordham screamed like a girl.”

“He kind of did,” Casey agrees, also grinning. 

“Uh. Sorry I missed it?” Dave says, then shakes his head. “Well, shit, Case.”

“It could have been bad, David,” Casey says, suddenly serious. “Very, very bad. This wasn’t like normal. They were going to do something really awful to Taylor. I couldn’t just curl up or run away. This wasn’t the usual stuff, David. It was going to be _so_ bad.” He takes a deep breath and some of the crazed look fades from his eyes. “I _had_ to fight back.”

Dave nods slowly, because he can pretty well figure what Casey means without it being spelled out explicitly. “Well. Let’s get home and you can get some ice on that eye and rest. Okay?”

“Can we stay until Rick’s mom comes?” Casey asks. “I don’t want him to have to sit in here alone. It’s boring and he might have a concussion.” Rick makes another incredulous face at Casey, but Casey ignores him.

Dave snorts. “Yeah, this place _is_ boring.”

 

It’s been an hour at least since the nurse shoved that tissue up his nose, so Casey figures he’s good to throw it in the trash, since it’s all bloody and gross and his nose isn’t bleeding any more, anyway. His nose does still feel kind of weird, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from being hit in it or the bleeding or just having a big wad of tissue stuck up it for an hour. 

David isn’t parked out in the senior lot. His truck is in one of the parents spaces right out front and it’s not parked in there very straight. It isn’t over the line or anything, but it’s kind of a little close, and it’s in the parking space all diagonally. 

“Was there another car in the way?” Casey asks, tilting his head to get a better look at how the truck is parked. 

David makes his hmphing noise and seems to look at the truck for a second too long before shrugging and unlocking it. Casey climbs into the passenger side of the truck and works very hard not to smile too big when David gets in, because it’s really not appropriate to smile after a huge horrible fight where someone got arrested and someone else almost got assaulted and there’s a lot of blood all over his shirt. He only smiles a little bit, instead, and he waits until David backs the car out of the spot and leaves the parking lot to say, “Can we get milkshakes?”

David looks over at him incredulously. “You need some rest,” he states, because apparently David is not answering questions directly right now. 

“I can rest with a milkshake. I’ll buy you a milkshake if you take us to get milkshakes,” Casey says. 

“Have you looked at your shirt, Case?”

Casey looks down at his shirt. “Um. Yes?”

“You can’t go into the Dairy King looking like that. They’ll call the police.” David pauses and frowns. “Again.”

“I wasn’t the one they called the police about before,” Casey says. “So it’s not again. It would just be the first time. Nobody’s ever had to call the police about me, because I’m not a hooligan or a nuisance. Oh, or a criminal.”

“You were still involved,” David says, but he looks like he’s at least amused now. “And seriously, Case, people eat inside the Dairy King.”

Casey sighs dramatically. “Well, okay. Fine. We can go through the McDonald’s drive-through and get ice cream. I battled. I need ice cream, David.”

“Right. Battled. Ice cream.” David shakes his head. “Funny how you don’t see WebMD mentioning the ice cream requirement, isn’t it?”

“It’s very important to have ice cream after a battle,” Casey says. “Well, or something celebratory. Probably beer is traditional, but I’m sixteen, and if I go around with a beer, somebody’s probably going to get in trouble.” Casey frowns. “Probably me. Maybe you, too, though. I think I could probably get us into a lot of trouble.”

“If someone gives you a beer, _they’re_ in a lot of trouble. I think we’ll stick with the McDonald’s drive-through, Case.”

“See? That’s what I was saying! Ice cream is important. Also, my face kind of hurts, and it might be nice to eat something cold.”

“They didn’t give you anything for the pain? You already didn’t get ice.”

“The nurse said she couldn’t give me anything because I’m not eighteen and only my parent or guardian can give permission for her to dispense medication to a minor,” Casey says. “I mean, I’m not _that_ minor. I don’t think Advil’s going to send me into a spiral of drug use or anything.”

“The first step on the road of crime and destruction never looks ominous, Case. It never does.” David is trying hard not to laugh. 

“Maybe between my hardcore Advil use and all my fighting, they’ll just have to send me to the alternative school,” Casey says. “I’m a danger to others, David. See? Right here in this truck, I’m being a danger to you. A bad influence.”

“Oh, definitely. If you sit in here a little longer, I might let them give me a milkshake that _isn’t_ vanilla!”

“Oh! Then I should sit here _all the time_. You definitely don’t have enough excitement in your life, David. You need exciting milkshakes, just, all the time.”

“I have excitement!” David protests. “I just don’t have exciting food, is all. There’s nothing _wrong_ with vanilla milkshakes.” He grins. “Or chili.”

“There’s something wrong with vanilla chili, though! We should _not_ make that. Ever,” Casey says. “Well, I’d eat a bite if you made it. I would be very nice and wouldn’t even spit it out. That would be so rude.”

“Maybe I’ll just forget to tell you,” David suggests, still grinning. “And then after you eat it, I’ll be, oh hey, Case, by the way? That was vanilla chili.”

“And I’ll yell ‘noooo’ and fall on the ground, and you’ll have to revive me, because I’ll just be passed out from shock.”

David turns bright red and doesn’t respond for a minute. “It’ll be, uh, shock from having liked it.”

Casey narrows his eyes at David, trying to figure out why he’s red all of a sudden. Not mad, not upset… oh! “Yes, I’d probably just stop breathing. It would be terrible. I’d be all not breathing and you’d have to rescue me from an untimely vanilla chili death.”

“Yeah.” David exhales a little. “Your, uh, obituary would be unique, Case. First vanilla chili death in history.”

“No way,” Casey insists. “No obituary, because you wouldn’t let me die from vanilla chili. You’d resuscitate me and they’d put it in the newspaper. Probably they’d put your picture in there. Not mine, I think, because how silly is it to almost die of shock from vanilla chili? Definitely your picture, though.” Casey grins at David and raises his eyebrows a little. “I’d clip your picture out and put it on my wall.”

“I’ll make sure to comb my hair the day I make vanilla chili, then. Maybe put on a clean T-shirt once I finish cooking, even.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Casey says. “I can only be saved from vanilla chili death by handsome and well-dressed Davids.”

“Do I have to be clean, too? I mean, it’s a picture, right? They can’t smell me.”

Casey pretends to think it over. “Hmm. Well, they couldn’t smell you through the picture, that’s true. Oh, but I could smell you when you revived me, though, so try not to smell too awful. Just smell regular and that’ll be good.”

“I’m like portable smelling salts, so you don’t faint again. Aren’t those supposed to smell awful?”

“And I guess if you smelled too nice, I might just faint again on general principle,” Casey says. “This is a predicament, I think.”

“There’s only one solution.” David sighs heavily. “I’m going to have to warn you before I add the vanilla.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Casey says. “I was looking forward to the whole fainting and reviving thing. I was actually going to suggest a practice run, so that when I actually faint from shock, we’ve already got the whole routine down pretty well. So we don’t make mistakes!”

David _really_ turns bright red this time, and he even coughs a little before answering. “That’s um. Yeah. Practice is um. Important. We should uh. Oh. Look. It’s our turn to order?”

Casey fishes around in his pocket and then hands David a five dollar bill. “Here. I’m buying you some ice cream as a thank you for saving me from fainting later. Oh! If I announce I’m fainting before I faint, you can make sure I don’t hit my head on something!”

“Concussions do tend to um. Put a damper on things.” David turns to the drive-through order screen and orders their ice cream, settling back in his seat without another word, though he’s still a little red. 

“I promise I won’t get concussed,” Casey says, in his most serious voice. “As long as you promise to revive me when your chili shocks me. It’s only fair.”

“My poor maligned chili,” David sighs. “I suppose it is only fair.”

“And I also promise I’ll do the same for you. If anything I feed you ever makes you faint. I’ll revive you.” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t know CPR, but I guess I can figure out _something_.”

“CPR is, um.” David clears his throat. “A life skill. Like changing tires. You should. Learn that.”

“Yes, I should definitely learn that,” Casey says.


	5. 3x32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers; escalation; an article, an interview, and a news segment; staking a claim; "You don't talk about him!"; kissing booboos all better; too comfortable; "I could make that true"; nobody's high; melted brownies and rehearsal meltdowns; What Carole sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has always been the story of _three_ boys.

If Puck had any sense of foresight, he would have cancelled his shift on the Sunday after prom. Instead, he asked to switch the hours around, which means he still has to be there by 9 in order to be done by 5:30, and it also means he doesn't get any time in the afternoon with Kurt. Getting up and eating and getting to Starbucks by 9 in the morning doesn't really feel considerably better than he imagines 5:30 would have. 

Actually, maybe 5:30 would have been better, because it would have meant so little sleep that he could have run on pure adrenaline, crashed with Kurt after the shift, and then gone to bed as soon as rehearsal was over. 

Too late to change it now, though, so Puck drags himself out of bed and follows the smell of coffee downstairs. Carole's sitting at the table, sipping on what probably isn't decaf, and she confirms that when he hefts the pot questioningly and she just nods. Puck grins and pours some into the largest travel mug, then snags some of Finn's Pop-Tarts because, honestly, Finn'd probably be disappointed if he woke up on a Sunday morning and wasn't missing a pack. 

Pop-Tarts and coffee mug in hand, Puck waves to Carole and heads outside. He almost gets into the Nav before he remembers that he's taking Finn's truck, since Finn and Kurt agreed to go pick up Sam, Mike, Tina, and Mercedes later. He trundles into Starbucks feeling dead, and a little weird. It's not like they had gotten a hotel room, and he hadn't really gotten drunk, even if Finn pretty much had, but still. Long day, late night. 

"Party hard after prom?" Ms. Horatio jokes.

"Not really," Puck says, because two and a half beers wasn't partying hard. Nothing about the night was partying hard, just… different, maybe. "Just up before 7:30 yesterday and up way late last night."

"Well, you can go home and take a nap after your shift?"

Puck laughs. "No, I get to sing and dance for at least two hours. We fly out to Nationals a week from tomorrow."

"Oh, that's right. You were going to go ahead and talk to a couple of managers out there ahead of time, weren't you?"

"If I have the time, yeah. I figured it couldn't hurt. Find one that's close to school or close to home – wherever home ends up being for sure."

"Good plan." She nods. "I'm going to head back home. Have a good shift."

"Yeah, have a good Sunday," Puck nods, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before washing his hands and moving to the counter. Luckily it's not that crowded, and since that hateful couple took it upon themselves to boycott Starbucks, there's no especially annoying customers. 

On the other hand, it’s not that crowded, and by eleven, that means he’s much more awake and has too much time for thinking. The night before had taken a turn for the interesting, at any rate. Any other relationship, any other _person_ , it would have been odd, but it’s not odd, not to Puck and not to Kurt, either, unless Kurt’s hiding it extremely well, and Puck’s pretty sure that Kurt’s not that good, not when he’s that tired and a little tipsy. 

Finn, on the other hand… Puck can’t help but figure that it _is_ odd for him. Odd enough that he wasn’t doing anything with them unless he was drunk, more or less, and Puck guesses Finn probably doesn’t want to talk about it. Either Finn wants to forget it and pretend it never happened, or he wants to forget it and pretend it never happened – until the next time he gets drunk. 

Puck’s good with either of those, and he’s pretty damn sure Kurt is, too, so there’s no need to talk about it, at least for now.

 

“Finn. Finn. I brought you water. And Advil. Finn.”

“Hmm? What?” Finn blinks his eyes and then rubs his hand across them before rolling over and squinting at Kurt. “Heeeeyyyy.” It’s nice to wake up and look at Kurt, and, oh, no, wait. That’s not the right thinks to be thinking. “Uh. Hi, I mean,” Finn says. 

“It’s pretty late,” Kurt says, voice still soft. “We said we’d go pick them up soon. And Dad started asking if you had stayed up later than me, or something. But I brought Advil and water.”

“You’re awesome, you know that?” Finn asks as he hauls himself into an upright position, which pretty much sucks. “Amazing and awesome. Advil please?”

Kurt hands him four tablets and then opens the bottle of water, handing it over next. Finn swallows the pills and downs the whole bottle of water in about three swallows. Kurt leans over and another water bottle appears, and Kurt opens it, too. “Here, drink another one.”

“Sure thing, bossofme,” Finn says, drinking the other bottle of water. “Dunno what I’m gonna do without you taking care of me. Guess I shouldn’t drink in Madison or I’ll have to train somebody to do all the stuff you know how to do.”

“Send me an email with their name and I’ll train them for you.”

“They still probably wouldn’t do it like you,” Finn says. “My head is so sad, Kurt. Did I hit it on something last night or is this seriously just from the beer?”

“I’m inimitable, and yes, it’s just the beer.” Kurt shrugs, standing up. “I advise sitting down to get dressed.”

“Maybe I could get dressed just lying here. You could pick out clothes for me and I’ll put them on without getting up from this bed?”

“Jeans and a T-shirt?”

“Sure, unless this is another dress-up event,” Finn says. 

“I don’t think you’d make it, darling.” Kurt tosses a pair of jeans on the bed and then, a minute later, a T-shirt. “Do you want to eat anything, or skip the food?”

Finn considers it for a minute and then groans. “Nope, eating something makes me think I might want to die. Coffee might be awesome, though.”

“We’ll get some after we get the others. I suspect they’ll need it, too.”

“Yeah, but probably for different reasons,” Finn says, then pauses. “Or the same reasons. I have no idea.”

“I don’t either, honestly. I’ll meet you downstairs.” 

“If I’m not there in five, it means I’ve died, ok?”

“Right.”

Once Kurt closes the door behind him, Finn realizes he’s still wearing most of his tuxedo, minus the jacket but including the tie, which has gotta be a first. He doesn’t remember going to sleep in his tuxedo. He think he remembers Puck walking him across the hall and dumping him into bed. He’s absolutely sure he remembers the stuff before that pretty accurately, but then again, he just woke up in a tuxedo and it’s almost noon, so his memory might be suspect.

Finn takes off the tuxedo and puts on the clothes Kurt picked out, then he lies back down on the bed for a minute and works up the willpower to stand, which takes longer than he expected. Finally, though, Finn stands up and goes to his bathroom to brush his teeth, which he definitely needs, and then goes downstairs to meet Kurt.

Kurt doesn’t look nearly as perky as Finn would have thought, considering Kurt was in Finn’s room with Advil and water like some kind of hangover angel. Puck and Kurt were drinking last night, too, though, so Kurt’s probably just enjoying a smaller version of Finn’s world class headache. 

“Hey,” Finn says. “Did you get _you_ some water and Advil?”

Kurt nods. “I did. It’s helping. Yesterday was long, though; we were up very early until very late.”

“We need naps. Let’s drive people around and come home and nap.”

“Yes.” Kurt nods and starts to walk towards the Nav, fiddling with his hair. “God, why is prom the weekend before AP exams?”

“Because smart people deserve to be punished,” Finn says. “Or they don’t like to party. I’m not sure which one it is.” 

“I’m sure that’s the way the administration sees things,” Kurt says dryly, climbing into the driver’s seat. 

“Oh, shit, I totally forgot to leave my keys out for Puck!” Finn says. “Shit. Did he find them this morning? I mean, obviously he did, because the truck’s gone, but still.”

“I didn’t wake up when Puck left,” Kurt says, looking a little sheepish. “But yes, I suppose so.”

They don’t really talk much on the drive back over to the Wingate, and Finn leans against the door and makes a conscious decision not to puke while Kurt calls up to various phones. Finn might even doze off with his face against the glass, because the sound of the back door opening makes him jump. 

“Hey, guys!” Sam says excitedly. “Thanks!”

“Not so loud,” Finn says. “Please?”

“Oh, sure, dude,” Sam say, his voice barely any quieter. He must turn around or something because Finn hears him say “Shh!” a moment later.

“Why are we being quiet?” Mercedes asks in what is apparently her quiet voice. 

“Kurt?” Finn says, and yeah, he’s aware he’s probably whining. “Please make her be quieter? Please?”

Kurt turns around slightly, raising one eyebrow at the other four. “Mouse–quiet, please.” 

Mike and Tina climb in with nods, and then Mike waves his hand to get their attention, then mimes drinking something. 

“Coffee? Yes. First stop,” Kurt agrees, and _his_ voice is actually quiet. 

“Thank you,” Finn whispers, or more moves his mouth in the shape of the words, but Kurt seems to understand what he’s saying, at least. 

Kurt nods, and the three or so blocks to Starbucks don’t take long, especially on a Sunday morning. Kurt parks the Nav and looks at Finn enquiringly. “Up to walking in?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Finn puts his hand on the door handle. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?”

“Right.” Kurt looks over at Mercedes for a moment before walking around the front of the Nav to wait for everyone. Finn does manage to get out of the Nav and stand up without puking on his own feet. He has a lot of envy over Kurt’s sunglasses at the moment, because he left his in the truck.

“Remind me to get my sunglasses out of the truck?” Finn asks Kurt. 

Kurt nods, and the six of them make their way inside. Puck’s leaning across the counter with one elbow propped on it, coffee in his other hand. He blinks once when he sees them, looks at Kurt, then Finn, and then at Mercedes before looking back at Kurt. “Hey.” He pushes himself off the counter to stand straight. “Coffee?”

“Marry me?” Finn says in response.

“That’s a cheap engagement, dude.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a cheap date,” Finn says. 

“Especially today,” Kurt says. 

“Can we talk now?” Mercedes asks. 

“You can tell me your drink order, how about that?” Puck says, raising an eyebrow. 

Mike, Tina, Sam, and Mercedes all give their orders, and Puck makes all of them plus Finn and Kurt’s drinks, looking not quite as bad off as Kurt did, actually. Finn guesses that puts him, then Kurt, and then Puck in order of who drank the most. 

After they finish their coffee, Finn gets his sunglasses from the truck, then everybody reconvenes in the Nav and Kurt drives everybody to the right location for whatever it is they’re supposed to be doing. When they get back home, Kurt goes straight upstairs, and Finn just follows him, because honestly it’s easier to turn his brain off completely if he’s just following Kurt around and doing whatever Kurt tells him to do. 

“Movie?” Kurt says, when they’re almost in Kurt’s room. 

“Sure,” Finn says, and once he’s in Kurt’s room, he just flops right onto the bed and pretends he has no bones. It would be so much more comfortable to have no bones and no brain. No eyes. Maybe just be a pair of feet for the next twenty-four hours. 

“Any preference? I was thinking comedy.”

“I don’t care,” Finn says. “I just want to be feet.”

“Okay, darling,” Kurt agrees, putting on some kind of comedy and lying down on the bed beside Finn. “I have to remember to take our empty bottles to recycle tomorrow.”

“Oh, ok,” Finn says. “That sounds good.” He lets his head drop over onto Kurt’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “Tell me how the movie is, ok?”

Kurt laughs softly and picks up Finn’s hand in both of his before letting it rest on Kurt’s leg, one of Kurt’s hands on top of it. “Okay.”

 

Puck makes himself a third, or possibly fourth, venti Americano before he leaves Starbucks at five. He needs a shower, desperately; Hannah’s already texted him three times about dinner; and he has no clue how he’ll make it through rehearsal. 

When he gets back to Kurt’s, he parks Finn’s truck in its usual spot and then heads upstairs. “Want a shower, baby?” Kurt asks. 

“Yes. Badly,” Puck admits, almost laughing. His phone buzzes again with a new incoming text, and he shakes his head. “Can you text Hannah while I do?”

“Texting machine today?”

“Yes.” Puck tosses over his phone and then walks into the bathroom. “Something about how big her room is and new posters, maybe. I think she and Mom went to Wal-Mart last night. Oh, and she doesn’t believe me about us winning,” he adds, calling over the sound of running water. 

“Did you text her a picture?”

“Said it was probably Photoshopped!”

Puck feels marginally more human after his shower, and when they get to the new apartment, Puck realizes part of Hannah’s eagerness was that _she_ was cooking dinner. Just a stir-fry, and she whines that Rina wouldn’t let her chop the vegetables with the big knife ‘even though she knows just how to do it!’, but it is good and hell, she’s only nine. 

“I don’t want to rehearse,” Kurt says as they’re washing the dishes. “I want to go to bed. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

“I think I’m purely running on caffeine. If it gives out at this point, though, I’m not replenishing. I fully intend on collapsing as soon as possible after we’re done at Mike’s. I envy Mike because all he has to do is walk up to his bed once we’re done. 

“Everyone but you was able to nap this afternoon if they wanted, though,” Kurt says. “So if you fall asleep in rehearsal, I think that’s perfectly justifiable.” 

“Let’s hope it is to Finn.”

“You did see him earlier, remember? I don’t think he’s in much of a position to complain.”

They go back over the river to get Finn before they all three head to Mike’s, and when Kurt pulls up, Finn’s sitting on the front porch, sunglasses firmly in place. Finn slouches to the Nav and climbs slowly into the back.

“Hey,” he says, buckling his seat belt. “You guys as excited about this as I am?”

“More,” Puck says. “Definitely more.”

“Sorry I slept on your bed for so long,” Finn says, sounding sheepish. 

“It’s okay, you didn’t drool,” Kurt says wryly. 

“Oh, well, then that’s, uh. Good?”

“It is, otherwise he’d make you do the laundry or something,” Puck jokes. 

“Finn, don’t panic, but.” Kurt stops. “Remember how I mentioned AP exams earlier?”

“Yeah, I don’t have any of those, though.”

“Yes, but several of us do, and some of them overlap with rehearsals.”

Finn inhales sharply, like he’s preparing to go on a tirade, but then he exhales. “Well, fuck,” is what he ends up saying. “I can’t even figure out what to do about that.”

“More evening rehearsals?” Puck suggests. 

“We’ll have to,” Finn says. “Nobody gets to have a life for the next week or so. Too bad for the people who want ’em.”

“I’m not missing work though, dude,” Puck points out as they arrive at Mike’s. “Kind of necessary.”

“Right. You gonna hate me forever if I schedule one for Tuesday night, though?”

“Dr. V in the afternoon.” Puck shrugs. “But we’ll be back after that.”

“Just lemme know what time, then,” Finn says. “We can’t go a week with almost no rehearsals. That’s just. Gah! I can’t!”

“No, we can’t,” Kurt agrees. “And everyone can still practice their vocal parts on their own.”

“And exercise,” Finn says. “You think Mercedes ever really did start doing that?”

“On her own? No. If Tina really did drag her with her? Yes.”

“Well, here’s hoping. If she’s the weak link at Nationals, I’m leaving her in a subway somewhere,” Finn grumbles, slumping down in his seat a little. 

“I suggest Staten Island,” Puck says with a shrug, opening the door and climbing out. “Just to make it a little more difficult for her.”

“Sounds like a plan, dude,” Finn says. 

Mike’s mom once again just has a sign on the door, which Puck thinks they really should have started doing at the Hudmel place, and when they get to Mike’s basement, it’s reassuring to see that most of the rest of them look at least a little worse for wear. Mercedes and Sam are disgustingly upbeat—how did Puck miss that at Starbucks earlier?—and Rachel is downright perky. 

“There are some people here that I’m pretty sure I hate now,” Finn whispers to Puck. “Did I always hate them, or is it new?”

“Maybe it was latent,” Puck offers, not really trying to whisper. 

“Kurt. Finn.” Rachel sounds far too perky, in fact. “You’re wearing sunglasses.”

“So is Satan,” Kurt says mildly. In fact, Santana, Brittany, and Quinn all definitely look like they had a great time at their afterparty. Not so great the next morning, maybe. 

“But we’re inside,” Rachel continues. “Why?”

“It’s bright,” Finn says, in a tone that clearly indicates he think Rachel’s lost her mind. 

‘It’s no brighter than it usually is here, Finn.” Rachel frowns and then her eyes widen very theatrically. Puck would almost say it’s faked, but Rachel’s not that good at faking clueless. “Oh my goodness! You all have hangovers!”

“No, I’m not taking whatever weird natural remedy you’re about to offer me,” Finn grumbles. 

“Brilliant powers of deduction, Rachel.” Kurt shakes his head. “Shall we get this over with, so we can sleep more?”

“You’re the pretty one and the awesome one, dude,” Finn says. “Yes. Do this, be done with this, go home and go to bed.”

“Rehearsals,” Puck reminds him. 

“Yeah, rehearsals,” Finn says. “God, it’s like a cave in here. It’s so stuffy. Is it stuffy to anybody else?”

“Yeah, let’s open the windows again.” Mike grins. “Not as cold this time, right?”

“Or we could go outside?” Tina says. “Your mom did make fish soup, Mike.”

“Yeah, but she was right. Our heads don’t hurt now.”

“Oh man, fish soup,” Finn says, sympathetically. “Your mom’s not pregnant, too, is she?”

“Oh, god, no.” Mike looks horrified. “I’m sure she’s way too old. She’s not young like your mom.”

“Dude, my mom’s old, too. I blame Burt,” Finn says.

Kurt sighs. “Dad is rather proud of himself.”

“You see? Burt’s fault.”

“I don’t want to think about this any more,” Puck says. “Do you two? Really?”

“No,” Finn says. “Not really at all.”

“Let’s go outside,” Kurt nods. “And Finn will give you all the bad news.”

“No, it’s good news,” Finn says. “For people who don’t want to have lives, and that’s all of us, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” Artie responds. “I have a rich and riveting social calendar.”

 

Puck isn't sure which of the two of them look worse off, if he's honest. Kurt drank a little more, Puck got less sleep, and both of them have been dancing for the past two hours. Supposedly just two hours, anyway; it's closer to ten than nine is what Puck notices, and it's not like they got started late with rehearsal. 

The house is already more or less dark, and Puck starts taking off his T-shirt as soon as they hit the bedroom, even before Kurt has the door closed. It doesn't take either of them long to finish getting undressed and end up in the bed. 

"Why did I think I could work the day after prom, again?" Puck asks through a yawn. 

"I don't actually know," Kurt admits, resting his head on Puck's shoulder. "Probably had something to do with missing, what is it, ten or twelve hours next week, while we're gone?"

"Yeah," Puck groans. "Probably." He wraps his arms around Kurt, holding Kurt tightly against him. "But, fuck, K. In a week, we're going to be home."

"For a few days. But yes. I will take it." Kurt tilts his head up and presses his lips to Puck's. "Home, baby."

"We're almost there. Everything's almost finished."

"In two weeks, we're going to have a first place trophy, a better anti-bullying policy, and only five days of classes left."

"I can't believe it's finally almost over." Puck shakes his head. "I thought I'd just be relieved, but it does feel weird, too."

"Yes. Well, there are a few things I'll miss. Not many." Kurt sighs. "I can't believe it, either." He stops and yawns. "So tired. Can't imagine how tired you are."

"I've felt better." Puck lets his eyes close. "Sleep now, blue eyes."

"Mmm. Yes. Good night, baby."

"Night, K."

 

“Is it just me,” Kurt murmurs as they walk into school on Monday morning, “or are we being stared at?”

“We _are_ the reigning prom royalty,” Puck says with a snort. “But yeah… I think this might go beyond that.”

“It’s very tense.” Kurt exhales and they stop to one side of the main entrance, just inside the doors. “It’s just going to get worse from here out.”

“At least we’ll miss the last four days of it.” Puck shrugs. “Though I guess that feels a bit like a cop-out. We’re barely going to make it back for the meeting, you know.”

Kurt nods. “Tina’s talked to some people about saving seats for most of us. They may allow speakers after all, but it’s not been decided.”

“Yeah, okay.” Puck nods. “Be good.”

“I’m always good.” Kurt grins and heads off in the other direction, and Puck sighs once before heading towards history. 

For the past month or so, Puck’s occasionally taken a different route to history, just to swing past Taylor’s locker, and he decides to do that, given how tense everything feels. He’s just turning off that hall when he sees Brown go flying sideways into a locker.

“The _fuck_ , man!” Brown shouts at the kid disappearing down the hallway into the crowd of people. The expression on his face is somewhere between pissed and confused, and he keeps staring down the hallway like he expects the guy who shoved him to come back and explain himself. Puck has a fleeting moment where he wants to laugh at the look on Brown, but then he realized what probably happened, and he frowns. 

Puck stops and waits until Brown looks over at him, then raises his eyebrows questioningly. 

Brown shakes his head. His usual guise slips a bit, and he actually looks somewhat stunned. “Asshole pushed me into a locker!” Brown says, like he can’t believe it happened. “Called me a queer and pushed me into the locker.”

Puck nods slowly, not sure what to say. It’s hard to tell if it’s a specific part of the incident that has Brown riled up, or just the fact that it happened at all. “At the risk of sounding like the drama queen that I apparently am, welcome to hell week. Week and a half.”

“That’s never happened to me before,” Brown says, still occasionally looking down the hallway. It’s the quietest Puck’s ever heard him, frankly. 

“Some of them went after Britt a few weeks ago. Nothing ended up happening,” Puck admits. “Beiste couldn’t get anything to stick, no matter what she tried, or at least that’s what Santana said. So.” Puck shrugs. “Guess they figure nothing’s going to touch them.”

“Sometimes I really hate this damn town.” Brown hoists his backpack up onto his shoulder. 

“ _Most_ of the time,” Puck agrees. “Most of the time.”

“One more goddamn year after this one,” Brown says, shaking his head. “I better check on Alicia, make sure she’s not taking any shit today.” He gives Puck a nod as he pulls out his phone and starts texting, turning to walk down the hall. 

Puck returns the nod before continuing to history, and he doesn’t realize he’s tensed up until he relaxes when he spots Finn, Sam, and especially Brittany all in their usual seats. Puck slides into his own seat with a sigh, taking a sip of his half–finished coffee. 

“Hey,” Finn says. “You almost didn’t make it before the bell.”

“Yeah, I’ve been detouring through the freshman lockers some mornings,” Puck explains. “Saw something… ominous, maybe?”

“Ominous how?” Finn sits up in his chair. “What happened?”

“Maybe I’m indulging my inner drama queen,” Puck snorts, “and just your usual locker check, but. It was Brown.”

“Brown locker–checked somebody?” Finn sounds pissed. “Seriously?”

“No, someone locker–checked _him_.”

“Oh, fuck!” Finn looks startled. “He ok?”

“He looked like he couldn’t believe it’d just happened, but physically? Yeah. Said the guy called him a queer, too, so – not accidental.”

“I think maybe I have an inner drama queen, too,” Finn says, “’cause all I can think is ‘and so it begins’, which sounds a little dramatical to say out loud.”

“I’ll take the fall for you, dude.” Mrs. Vey goes to close the door as the bell rings, and Puck drops his voice. “And so, it begins.”

 

Puck can’t help but think that the choir room does _not_ look like a room containing a show choir that’s leaving for Nationals in almost exactly a week, down to the hour. There’s a stack of magazines on the piano, and Brad looks decidedly unhappy about it. Half of the people already there are reading said magazine, and the rest are clustered around Sam. That’s a nice change from being clustered around one of the girls, like they were last week, but still weird. 

The magazines on the piano turn out to be _outlook: columbus_ , and one of the stories on the cover is ‘Lima PFLAG vs. The World,’ with the Wazowski guy’s name underneath. Well, that explains the reading, then, and Puck picks up a copy and sits down next to Kurt. “Why’s everyone around Sam?”

“I believe I heard Mercedes bemoaning the germs in the punch at prom,” Kurt answers. 

“He can wear a mask while we rehearse,” Finn says, from behind his copy of _outlook: columbus_. “It’s not the flu.”

“Allergies?” Puck suggests. “Those little white flowers are everywhere now.”

“As long as his feet work,” Finn says. “You guys read this yet?”

“Not yet,” Puck says, holding up his still–closed copy. “Any good?”

“Any positive press is good press,” Kurt says, “but yes, it’s moderately well-done. It is _not_ another profile piece.”

“I like the part about the diversity in the PFLAG group and how we’re all banding together despite our,” Finn looks down at the magazine again. “Despite our ‘varied backgrounds and social circles’. That part’s cool. Also, it’s true.”

Puck finally opens his copy of the magazine and starts to scan the article, and then he hears Rachel loudly proclaiming, “I have a wonderful tea that could soothe your throat, Sam, and—”

“No,” Mercedes breaks in. “He needs to take some Dayquil.”

“Dayquil is so harsh,” Rachel sighs. “Some echinacea.”

“No, he just needs to suck it up,” Finn says, then he calls over to Sam, “Suck it up, Sam.”

“Sure. All I did was mention I wanted some juice because my throat was a little scratchy,” Sam answers, sounding amused. 

“See? Sam’s sucking it up, so stop arguing,” Finn says mildly, folding up his magazine. 

“Hey, guys!” Schue walks in the room. “Oh, good, you found the magazines. We went shopping down in Columbus this weekend so I picked those up for you guys.” He looks around. “Where’s Artie?”

“AP exam,” Mike answers. “Are we ready to go rehearse? I thought maybe we could dance in the courtyard, Mr. Schue.”

“Sure, yeah, great idea,” Schue agrees. “We don’t really have a great sound system set up there, though.”

“We’ve got a outdoor speaker thing,” Mike says. “It’s in my car, but I can run get it.” 

“Oh, okay, great!” Schue answers. While Mike leaves the room, Schue looks at the rest of them. “Anything I need to know?” he asks, but it’s pretty clear he’s actually addressing Finn. 

“We’re light on members this week, but we’re taking care of it,” Finn says. 

“Light? Oh, right. AP exams.” Schue nods. “I got the official paperwork from Principal Figgins for our bus to and from the Columbus airport, so that’s the last piece of our travel paperwork, as I understand it.”

“What time are we slated to arrive back in Lima on Thursday evening, precisely?” Kurt asks. 

“We’re supposed to arrive between 5:45 and 6 pm,” Schue answers. 

“Cutting it close,” Tina murmurs, and there’s a few nods. 

“I’ve already amended the request to take us directly to the school board meeting,” Schue explains. “All right, let’s go meet Mike out in the courtyard?”

 

Finn’s doing his fifth period patrol of the halls when he starts noticing the writing on the lockers. It doesn’t really click until he’s on the sophomore locker hall and sees more of it that it’s the same stuff he noticed in the freshman hall and on a couple of lockers in the junior wing, so he takes a closer look at it. Kurt’s right that the insults aren’t that creative, because it’s all about the same stuff: ‘Fags’, ‘Die Fags’, and one that Finn actually thinks is kind of funny in an awful way, ‘Got Dick?’.

Once Finn notices it, however, he makes a point of looking for it, and sure enough, he really did see it all the places he thought he saw it. It all seems to be written in the same two or three handwritings, or at least with the same two or three markers, and Finn realizes he’s trying to figure out if the different colors used—black, blue, and green—are supposed to have some kind of meaning, or if it’s just what was handy, and if there’s some way to figure out who did it based on the marker color. Maybe a random search of backpacks for green and blue markers. Probably a lot of people have black.

It’s just going to be one of those weeks, Finn can tell. There’s a feeling, like something underneath the surface that’s going to be really, really ugly when it finally makes it to the top. On the one hand, he’s worried about all of them going to Nationals and leaving the rest of the PFLAG kids without some of their baddest badasses. On the other hand, if it’s going to be that bad, he’d rather Kurt and Puck—and Britt and Santana, too—not be involved in it. Maybe they can hold off the really bad stuff for another few days and then when it all goes to hell, they’ll already be in New York. 

This whole PFLAG bouncer thing isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be. Everybody thinks he means it as a big joke when he talks about it, and Schue laughed at him that one time when he was late to Spanish class and tried to explain that it was because he was patrolling the halls, but Finn takes it seriously. Sure, he _could_ do other stuff with his free period, and sometimes he does, but lately he just feels a lot better if he takes a little walk around the school and checks things out. The writing on the lockers just proves he’s right, and he goes around and uses his phone to takes pictures of as much of the writing as he can find before the bell rings for sixth period. 

 

Kurt closes the hood and wipes off his hands. “Dad? Don’t forget, I have to talk to Connie Dean in about five. But this one’s done.”

“Can you park it around the back? I gotta get this Impala in there before four-thirty,” Burt says. 

“Sure.” Kurt climbs in the Saturn and pulls it out before parking it in the rear lot, leaving the number twenty-eight hangtag on the rearview mirror. When he walks back around to the front of the shop, the WLIO van is already parked in the front lot. 

Connie Dean climbs out of the van, straightening the skirt of her turquoise suit before greeting Kurt. “Kurt! So great to see you again!”

“Ms. Dean,” Kurt greets her, offering his hand. “It’s good to see you again, too. If you’ll just give a moment to get these off.” He gestures to his coveralls. 

“What? You don’t want to be filmed in your work clothes?” Connie asks, laughing. Her usual camera man gets out of the van behind her and waves at Kurt. 

“I’ll pass this time,” Kurt says with a small smile. He ducks back into the shop and sheds the coveralls before yelling out to Burt. “Dad, I’m going to talk to Connie Dean now!”

“Sounds good!” Burt calls out. 

Kurt goes out through the main doorway, just in case Connie’s got her cameraman already filming footage, polite smile fixed on his face. 

“You all ready?” Connie asks. 

“Of course,” Kurt nods. “Where do you want me to stand?”

“Let’s move you over about two feet to the left,” Conn says. “We can get the Hummel Tire and Lube sign in the background.” 

“Free advertising, Dad’ll like that,” Kurt quips as he shift as instructed. 

Connie glances back at the cameraman and nods, then asks Kurt, “So, with fewer than two weeks left until the next school board meeting, how would you describe the climate at McKinley?”

“It’s certainly somewhat tense, obviously. Most of the school seems to know who those of us involved with PFLAG are; the raised profile means we’re aware of most of the activity, even if we’re not personally involved. We’re hopeful, though, of course.”

“Of course,” Connie nods. “Have there been any additional incidents at school since the last meeting?”

“Yes,” Kurt admits. “There have been. It’s mostly been restricted to vandalism, though there continues to be a problem with hallway aggression.”

“Can you talk a little more about this hallway aggression?”

“There are, of course, occasions of name–calling, as well as rude gestures and shoves into lockers.” Kurt pauses. “None of us are willing to sit down and shut up just to make the opponents happy.”

Connie smiles broadly. “Speaking of not sitting down and shutting up,” she says, “what’s this I heard about McKinley’s unconventional prom court this year?”

Kurt allows himself a small smirk. “Yes, there were four of us who campaigned as same-sex pairings.” He shrugs slightly. “Last year, there was a write-in campaign for a male queen, so why not actually run those campaigns with the intention of winning, rather than as a cruel joke?”

“So,” Connie continues, with a leading tone. “Would you like to tell us who won?”

“I suppose I could,” Kurt laughs for a second. “Yes, you’re talking to the reigning 2012 William McKinley High School Senior Prom King.”

“Congratulations! What was the response from your classmates to your non-traditional ticket?”

“Obviously, there was enough of a positive response for the both of us to win, but there was some negativity as well. Defacing of both our posters as well as the posters of our female counterparts, plus some comments, though not as many directly to us.”

“And the response after the fact?”

“Well, prom was only Saturday evening, so there hasn’t been any significant repercussions, no.”

“Do you anticipate any?” Connie asks. 

“I’d like to say no, but that’s not exactly what I’ve learned to expect at McKinley,” Kurt admits. “Absent the school board effort, there would be some, but with it, I do think there will be more.”

 

Puck has the vague feeling that he's actually moving through a surreal landscape, something out of a sci-fi movie or similar. School that's his but soon won't be; rehearsal and practices that will end soon; apartment building that he's lived in for eight years, but not his apartment. 

Still, when Kurt drops him off after their dual enrollment class, Puck checks the mail in the box for the old apartment and the new apartment, then heads up the stairs, sitting in the living room that already looks so much the same but is still noticeably different.

There's nothing to go through, because he doesn't have a room; there's very little homework, because none of their teachers are requiring anything except for physics and dual enrollment, and he usually does those with Kurt. Puck sighs and pulls out his earbuds and starts going through the mail. Bills, bills… Lima City Schools. Hmm.

It's addressed to Rina, but that's never stopped him in the past, so he rips the envelope open and starts to read the enclosed letter. Pleased to inform you… Hannah Puckerman… Liberty Arts Magnet. 

Puck grins. "All right, now we're talking," he says out loud to no one, and thumbs over to message Kurt. After he gets a response, Puck decides to text Sam and see if they got a similar letter about Stevie. 

_Hannah got ltr re magnet did Stevie?_

It's a good five or ten minutes before Sam responds. 

_Had 2 go chk mail yep hes in. Hannah?_

_Yep! Cool. Guess they'll find out re rebecca tomorrow_

_ill ask mom to call r's mom later thx dude_

_cool thx_

Puck lets his phone drop back to the couch beside him and he flips on the television, watching Dr. Phil on mute. It's pretty easy to guess what the dude is saying. The guests sniffle and even sob and at the end, there are some hugs and solemn nods, probably making some kind of promise. 

When the show ends, Puck wanders into the kitchen and figures out pretty quickly that they're supposed to have steak, some kind of potatoes, a salad, and, if he's right, green beans. He goes ahead and starts baking the potatoes and then puttering around until Rina and Hannah get home. 

"Oh, you started dinner." Rina sounds surprised. "I didn't expect that."

Puck shrugs as he takes his earbuds out. "Got bored. Oh, Hannah got in the arts magnet, by the way." He nods towards the stack of mail, and Hannah squeals.

"Ooh! I hope Rebecca and Stevie did, too!"

"Already texted Sam, Stevie's in. I think their mom was going to call Rebecca's mom later or something like that."

"Awesome!" Hannah pumps her fist in the air in a gesture vaguely reminiscent of Finn, which is actually pretty damn funny. "Mom, did you hear that? Stevie and I are going to Liberty in the fall!"

"I did hear." Rina nods. "Well, well done, Hannah. Go change your clothes so we can wash the salad. Kurt'll be here at six?" Rina turns towards Puck at the last sentence, and Puck nods. "Oh, there's some rolls in the freezer, can you add those to the oven?"

"Sure." Puck shrugs. He's not sure why the big dinner, but he'll definitely take it where it's offered. 

 

“Hello, the three boys,” Brittany says when she answers the door. “Did you all walk together this time?”

“Nah,” Puck answers. “We picked up this really tall hitchhiker on our way.”

“I promise I don’t have an axe in my bag,” Finn says. “Well, not a sharp one, anyway.”

“What are we going to do when we need a tree chopped down, Finn?” Kurt chides. “Dull axes can’t help with that task.”

“Ninja chop,” Finn says, demonstrating. 

“Dude, you’re not a gay ninja.” Puck frowns. “You can’t be acting all ninja–like.”

“He’s been studying us, clearly.”

“I have, uh. Skills of a ninja,” Finn says. “Orange juice ninja.”

“There’s a reason I try to only drink orange juice when I’m the one opening the fresh bottle.” Kurt sighs. “Is anyone else here yet, Brittany?”

“’Tana, and Tina and Mike, and Quinn is here, too, but she’s in the bathroom.”

“I’m sure that Quinn will be delighted that we know that,” Kurt comments. “Finn, should we all just wait out here?”

“It’s nice out here, so we can wait,” Finn says. “Which is good, since we’re all gonna be outside for a while.”

“Tell the others to come out here, Britt?” Puck suggests. “Finn wants us to walk down to the school and practice in the field or parking lot or whatever.”

When Artie arrives a bit later, after Sam and Mercedes, he looks panicked. Since it’s still Monday and Puck’s pretty sure Artie already finished at least one of his AP exams, Puck’s not sure _why_ he looks panicked. “Where’s the fire, dude?” Puck asks after a moment. 

“We might not be back in time to get everything set up to film,” Artie says. “Lauren can’t be there until twenty minutes before, and I’m not sure we’ll be there in time for me to help her get it all set up.”

“We’re supposed to be back between 5:45 and 6 on Thursday,” Kurt answers Artie.

“And we have some volunteers to make sure we’ll get inside the main room,” Tina picks up. “If you let me know what you need, I bet one or more of them can do some basic set-up for you if you aren’t yet there.”

“Oh, that’s better than I thought,” Artie says. “Maybe Lauren can get the equipment prepped ahead of time and drop it off with my mom.”

“See? Problem solved!” Tina says brightly. “Finn, we’re all here, and now we’re all actually calm.”

“Calm is good,” Finn agrees. “Onward to the elementary school!”

“Onward to Freedom!” Brittany says. 

“Please don’t make me do the Go Freedom Eagles cheer,” Kurt says. “Please.”

 

For the first time in a long time, Puck and Kurt don’t go to Waffle House for breakfast on a Tuesday. They don’t even drive up there to get take-out, because they actually did homework once they finally got back from rehearsing the night before, plus rehearsal is starting earlier than previous weeks. At least, Puck figures, it’s only one week, and the next week, they’ll be eating breakfast in New York City. 

During the morning rehearsal, Rachel starts obsessing over their costumes, which leads to an agreement that they’ll start dress rehearsals that night instead of waiting until Wednesday or Thursday. They still won’t do every rehearsal as a dress rehearsal, at Kurt’s insistence, which Puck agrees with. The last thing they need to be worrying about is whether or not their costumes stink.

The hallways are just as tense feeling; Puck is pretty sure he’s getting strange glances, and he’s very sure that he’s getting a few hostile glances, but no one says anything to him directly. Their second rehearsal of the day is exactly like their rehearsal during the day on Monday, down to Artie being absent. It’s on the second run-though that Puck starts frowning. 

“What’s up, dude?” Finn asks. 

“Maybe I should rework the bridge between the duet and ‘Somebody Told Me’,” Puck says, frowning more deeply. “That one G sounds out of place, don’t you think? Fix the tempo on the second–to–last measure.”

Finn squishes his eyebrows together like he’s thinking carefully about what Puck said, then he says, “I think it sounds fine.”

“Or the first bridge, I think maybe it needs a little more complexity coming into the duet.”

“Puck?” Finn asks. He makes a little movement and stops, like he’s holding himself back. “It’s good, ok? We can talk about it after rehearsal and go through it, if that’ll make you feel better.”

Puck nods, still frowning, but doesn’t say anything else, and they keep rehearsing after that. When rehearsal is over and everybody starts filing out, Finn tentatively puts out an arm in Puck’s direction.

“Now you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Finn asks.

“I just think they need a little tweaking,” Puck protests. 

“Yeah, and if that’s just what it was, you’d just do it,” Finn says. “What else? Kurt, do you have any idea?”

Kurt looks almost amused. “Clearly, it’s just his turn.”

Finn looks puzzled, but then he rolls his eyes and laughs. “Like the girls last week?”

“Yes. See, we already had Sam and Artie yesterday, and Rachel this morning.” Kurt shrugs. “Personally, I’m a little concerned about when it’s your turn, Finn.” 

Puck laughs, because now that Kurt says it, yeah, it’s pretty clear what’s happening. “Yours will be over the costumes, K.”

“Possibly,” Kurt admits. 

“Nah, I’m not gonna freak out,” Finn says. “I feel perfectly calm. Maybe I’ll just get the opposite of freaked-out or something. Like, freaked- _in_.”

“I felt perfectly calm at the beginning of fourth, dude,” Puck points out. “But let’s go get some lunch.”

“Joey’s?” Finn asks.

“Sure,” Puck nods. “Sounds good.”

 

After they eat, Puck attempts to make himself review for Monday’s AP exam, at least until it’s time for Kurt to show back up. Kurt has the same French professor this quarter as he did winter quarter, so by now she just lets him slip out early on some Tuesdays, which Puck figures it’s good that Kurt’s not missing entire classes now. 

On the other hand, Puck feels like he has to put more effort for the two periods he is on campus before they leave, and at this point, he’s not sure what more to do. Instead, he pulls out the paperwork for Hannah’s new school that he managed to get Ms. P to give to him, and fills it out. Sam had confirmed in history that Rebecca was in the magnet school, so Puck figures he’s going to have done about as much as he can for Hannah, short of kidnapping her and taking her to New York with him and Kurt, which – no. 

There’s a part on the form about what kind of instrument Hannah might be interested in, because apparently they’re experimenting with introducing the kids to the instruments in the last part of fourth grade instead of waiting until the beginning of fifth grade. Puck doesn’t really know what Hannah might be interested in, other than piano lessons, but he figures she’d rather play in the treble clef and have a chance at the melody from time to time. He finally decides on violin, and if Hannah hates it, he doubts that they’ll hold her to what her big brother put on a form almost a year ahead of time. 

He walks the forms back to Ms. Pillsbury’s office, where she says she’ll pass them along to the district, and then he pulls out one of his notebooks and works on a song instead of even attempting to review any more score analysis. 

Dr. V spends a little time talking about how the new amount of meds is working, as well as looking around while they’re in New York at potential offices. Dr. V says he can help Puck figure out questions to ask and facilitate transferring Puck’s files and whatever come August. After the appointment, Puck heads back to the parking garage, where Kurt’s already got a bag of food from Five Guys. They eat on the way back, since they’re pretty much heading straight to the football stadium for rehearsal. 

They actually manage to get back to Lima quicker than they thought, which means they’re the first ones at the stadium. Finn arrives not long after them, toting a bag that probably still contains his shoes, and carrying the large Tupperware container that Carole usually uses to hold cookies. When Finn sees Puck and Kurt, he holds the container aloft.

“I bring cookies! Bow before me!”

Puck shakes his head slowly and looks at Kurt, who’s raising his eyebrows disbelievingly at Finn. “Bow? Really?”

“Worth a try?” Finn says, with a shrug. 

“It might work on some of the rest of them,” Puck offers. 

“I don’t care if most of the rest of them bow or not,” Finn says, opening the container and helping himself to a cookie before holding it out towards Puck and Kurt. “Peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips.”

Puck picks up a stack of them and hands half of them to Kurt before taking a bite of one. He shrugs. “Most of them?” he asks. 

“Might be cool if Mike would bow,” Finn says. “He’d probably do it with, like, _flair_ or whatever.”

“Undoubtedly,” Kurt agrees. “I bet a day of kitchen clean-up that it’s Santana tonight.”

“Nah, it’ll be Rachel again,” Finn says. “This is about her window. If it’s not tonight, it’s tomorrow for her.”

“Twice in one day? Possible, I suppose.”

“My money—or my hands, I guess, no wait, money’s fine—is on Mercedes.” Puck shrugs. “I think Mike’ll wait until later in the week.”

“I’m telling you. It’ll be Rachel every day between now and Nationals,” Finn insists. “I should just take your money right now, if we’re betting on meltdowns, ’cause seriously? Rachel. Every day. Three times on Monday before we board.”

“Oh, fuck. What if she freaks out on the plane?” Puck groans. “We’re going to be greeted at LaGuardia by air marshals.”

“We need a sprayable sleeping pill,” Kurt suggests. “If she gets too crazy, then we could just sedate her.” He frowns. “Though that’s probably illegal.”

“Crush one of Puck’s Xanax and put it in her herbal tea,” Finn says. “I bet she won’t even notice she’s calm.”

Puck snorts. “Anyone who didn’t know her would just think she was normal, not calm.”

“That might be awesome,” Finn says. “We should definitely have that plan on standby just in case.”

“Some people might find us a bit frightening,” Kurt muses. 

Santana walks up before Puck or Finn either one can respond, Brittany beside her. “’Sup bitches. I mean boys.”

“Yeah, you know that’s right,” Brittany said, apparently deciding she’s Santana’s hypeman today. 

“Cookie?” Puck responds. 

“Oh, definitely!” Brittany takes a cookie for herself and one for Santana, too. “’Tana, they taste just like peanut butter cups!”

Santana takes one with the attitude of her doing them a favor by eating their cookies, but she doesn’t complain about it after she starts eating. The rest of them arrive soon after, and Puck’s glad he snagged so many of the cookies ahead of the crowd. Mike and Tina are the last to arrive, and Puck has to concede it looks like none of them won, since Tina appears to be ready to hurt someone. 

“Mike, it’s just not acceptable! First.” She exhales before continuing. “And now this? This isn’t right!”

“I know! I agree!” Mike says, sounding a little bit desperate. “At least he’s got some— warning sounds awful.”

“It _is_ awful!”

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks into the silence that follows Tina’s last pronouncement. 

“It’s Taylor. He told me— he’s been hearing some things.” Tina sighs. 

“What kind of things?” Finn frowns. 

“That he just.” Tina makes a face. “Just needs— well, you can probably guess.”

Finn’s frown gets darker. “Same as with—” He jerks his head in Brittany’s direction. “I’m guessing?”

Tina swallows and nods. “Yes.”

“ _Who?_ ” Finn asks. 

“He’s not sure. It’s not being said directly to him, you know?” Tina shakes her head. “I told him where some of us were during certain classes, when I could remember, and to make sure to stick with his friends, but.”

“It’s all he can do,” Kurt finishes, sounding resigned. “All any of us can do.”

“Mace,” Finn says. “Maybe a Taser.”

“Not a bad idea,” Puck nods. 

“Not allowed on campus,” Kurt says matter–of–factly.

“Stealth mace,” Finn mutters. “I bet we can find that online.”

“Yes, and get suspended or expelled.” Kurt shakes his head. “Trust me, it’s not worth the penalties.”

“Well, shit, I guess we don’t want somebody getting suspended,” Finn says. “Still, stealth mace might be good.”

“They have to have reasonable suspicion to search your vehicle.” Kurt states it in the same matter–of–fact tone.

Puck glances over at Kurt, because he does seem to know all of this awfully well. “Oh?” Puck asks.

Kurt shrugs. “The safety afforded by having it accessible versus the potential penalty is something I’ve assessed in the past. Last year? It was in there.”

Puck looks around at the rest of them. Rachel looks uneasy, like the idea of mace is distressing to her on principle; the rest of them don’t look disapproving, though there are a few that look surprised by Kurt’s admission. 

Kurt looks around too, and shakes his head. “What? I didn’t actually have to use it!”

“Ok, well,” Finn says, suddenly. “We’re already running later than I planned, so enough about Kurt’s mace. Everybody who hasn’t gotten a cookie, get one, and Mike, if you’ll get that speaker set up so we can get rolling.”

 

“Hey, that you boys?” Burt calls out from the kitchen as Puck, Kurt, and Finn walk into the house.

“Yes, we’re here to rob you via food consumption,” Kurt responds, and the three of them _do_ head towards the refrigerator. 

“And this is new?” Burt asks. “Saw you on the news tonight, Kurt!”

“Not new, ongoing,” Kurt counters, grabbing pop and some kind of dip. “National?”

“Yep. The shop was in the background,” Burt says. “Nice advertising.”

“Yes, Connie Dean was insistent on that. I told her you’d appreciate it. Finn, grab those chips?”

Finn grabs the chips and follows Kurt and Puck into the living room. Puck snags a roll of the paper towels because it just seems like that kind of week, already. 

“How was the story otherwise, Dad?” Kurt asks. 

“Came out really strongly in favor of changing the language and of PFLAG in general,” Burt says. “It was a real nice piece.”

“Connie Dean does seem to have a soft spot for us,” Puck notes. “Did they interview that idiot from that one church?”

“Well, they interviewed _an_ idiot from that church, but not the guy from the school board meeting. The youth pastor, I think. Poppel? Pothel?” Burt says. 

“Poplar?” Puck suggests.

“Something like that,” Kurt nods. “I’m sure he was a delight.”

“He was something, anyway. That church seems to hire a lot of unstable individuals, I’m telling you.”

“Maybe it’s just a church for mentally unstable people.” Kurt smiles brightly. “At least they show their ignorance.”

“I think all those people are mentally unstable,” Finn declares, resurfacing from the bag of chips. 

“That would make sense,” Puck agrees. 

“Pomegranate!” Burt says, suddenly. “I think that might have been his name.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s anybody’s name, Burt,” Finn says, surreptitiously offering Burt the bag of chips. 

Kurt leans across to smack Finn’s arm without comment. “Don’t say it too loud, Dad, Carole’ll start craving that instead of mangoes.”

“Ow,” Finn says, half-heartedly. 

“Poor mistreated Finn,” Puck nods. “It’s sad, dude.”

“Do you think they’ll re-air the story on the 11 o’clock news, Dad?” Kurt addresses Burt. 

“Probably. You know how it is, same stories three or four times a day,” Burt says. “Not that I’m complaining about you guys’ thing being on there again.”

“They’d hate for anyone to miss the controversy over the new stoplight in West Lima,” Puck agrees. “It’s important stuff.”

“Well, this is important stuff, at least,” Burt says. 

“Yes. Finn, turn it on? I think you’re sitting on the remote.”

“Oh, I was wondering why the sofa was so lumpy.” Finn fishes the remote out from underneath him and turns on the television. 

The first few minutes of the news are, in fact, about the new stoplight, and then the anchor talks about a bad car accident out near Van Wert, plus something about farm subsidies and crop prices. 

“And now, a replay of one of the stories NBC Nightly News featured this evening, compiled by our very own Connie Dean. Connie, would you like to introduce the piece?”

“Thank you, Thor,” Connie says to the anchor. “Of course, all of us here in Lima know about the ongoing battle between a group of McKinley high school students and the Lima City school board, but now this story is being told on a national stage.”

When she finishes, Connie disappears and a graphic appears with the NBC logo and the words ‘Lima: A Town At War’. Connie Dean’s voice starts over some shots of Lima and the first two school board meetings. “The issue of bullying in Lima City Public Schools is creating a rift in the community that goes far beyond the classroom.”

The story moves fairly quickly, cutting between video with Connie’s voice-over and portions of interviews with the guy from the church, Kurt, Ms. Pillsbury, and the president of the school board, who is noncommittal and vague in every single one of his answers. Conrad Michaels is the last interview, and he, at least, expresses his enthusiastic hope that the changes in the policy will pass.

“That was… surprisingly positive,” Kurt says at the end. “The opponents look like they can’t figure out exactly why they’re against it.”

“Yeah, I think their whole thing is that gay is icky,” Finn says. “That’s… kind of a dumb argument.”

“Gay cooties.” Puck snorts. “Planted by gay ninjas, of course.”

“We just shake our heads and the gay falls right off.” Kurt shrugs. “Nothing to be done for it.”

“Oh, shit!” Finn says. “Sorry, Burt. I think you guys gave me gay cooties at Pat’s after prom.”

“Yes. We made arrangements with Pat’s to sprinkle them on as many patrons as possible, actually.” Kurt smirks. “Everyone’s going to start turning up gay.”

“That sounds like a very bad parody,” Puck winces. 

 

Wednesday starts out better than Puck expects; he sleeps in an extra ten minutes and still gets everything done to open on time, and then there aren’t many people coming into the Starbucks that morning. Puck can nearly forget about all the crap at school until they actually reach the parking lot and on one of the signs, someone’s scrawled “PFLAG is COCKSUCKERS.”

“Well,” Puck sighs. “It’s not entirely inaccurate.”

“Not for all of us, anyway,” Kurt snorts. 

“Here we go again.”

The morning does more or less feel like a repeat of the last two days, though unlike Monday, Puck doesn’t witness any locker checks. Artie’s absent from rehearsal yet again with some other AP exam, and Puck’s ready to leave campus by the time lunch rolls around. Dual enrollment is fine, the afternoon at Starbucks isn’t too busy, and by dinnertime, Puck’s starting to think that maybe they’ll make it to Friday all right. 

 

Finn’s in the bathroom taking a leak between first and second period when he sees it on the wall of the stall. It’s written in blue marker, in blocky all-capital letters, in handwriting that may or may not match the writing on any of the lockers Finn’s been taking pictures of this week. “KURT HUMMEL SUCKS DICK.”

Because Finn has excellent self control, he zips his pants before he punches the stall wall, and while he’s hopping around shaking his hand, he thinks that maybe punching a face would have been more satisfying _and_ would have hurt a lot less. He might have to find a face later, preferably the one connected to the head, connected to the body, connected to the hand that wrote that shit on the bathroom stall wall. 

It had to be a senior, because only seniors have classes on this hall, so that means only seniors use this bathroom— well, and a couple of really smart juniors, but mostly they don’t pee on this hall. Finn pays even closer attention to everyone’s handwriting during second and third periods, and he even makes the guys who sit near him in math empty out their backpacks so he can see if they have a blue marker, because he _knows_ that shit in the bathroom is new. 

Artie’s missing again during fourth period glee rehearsal, and Finn’s starting to get that feeling like maybe he should do some pacing around the choir room or something, because this AP test scheduling thing is _really_ cramping Finn’s schedule. After the last run through, while everybody else is packing up to leave, he actually does do a couple of passes back and forth, muttering to himself about how they’re going to lose all this ground and maybe also a little bit about stupid fuckers with blue markers. 

“Lunch?” Puck asks, nodding towards the parking lot. 

Finn comes up short in his fourth pass across the choir room. “Oh, yeah, that’s cool.”

The three of them gather up their bags and start down the hallway. They almost bump into a group of juniors—three guys from the football team, including Brown, and a Cheerio—and Brown puts up a hand to keep Finn from barrelling into him. When Brown’s hand touches his arm, Finn swears he hears a hissing noise coming from either Kurt or Puck, possibly Kurt. 

“Sorry, bro,” Finn says to Brown. 

“No problem, Hudson. Wouldn’t want you to break your pretty neck.” Brown meets Finn’s eyes and then slowly drags his gaze down Finn and back up. Brown smirks a little when his gaze returns to Finn’s face, and Finn can feel himself flushing a little, because that’s kind of the least appropriate look he’s ever been given in a McKinley hallway. 

“Uh,” Finn says. “Thanks?”

“Later, Brown,” Puck says flatly, and Kurt and Puck both start moving away from Brown, Finn sandwiched between them. Finn just laughs, because seriously, Brown? Finn’s just not even really sure what to make of that look. The three of them go have burgers for lunch and Puck and Kurt don’t mention Brown, so neither does Finn. On the drive back to school after lunch, Finn announces that he might just skip the rest of the day and wander the halls looking for trouble.

“Darling, you apparently don’t have to look for trouble, it just finds you,” Kurt jokes. 

“I like to look for it, though,” Finn says. “That way I can find it before it can find anybody else.”

“Look out, here comes the Spiderman?” Puck suggests. “Finn Hudson, Superhero?”

“But no capes,” Finn says. “Those things are trouble.”

“They really are. Very few people can pull off a cape.” Kurt shrugs. “Remember, Finn. When you go looking for trouble, you could be killed. Or worse, expelled.”

“Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do,” Finn says. 

“Behave,” they say together as they get back to McKinley, and then both of them start to laugh, too. 

“What? I always behave!” Finn says.

“Mmmhmm. Yes, you do.”

Finn’s just no so sure what to say to that, so he tells them he’ll see them later, and heads back into the school for sixth period Spanish. At this point, that class is about the biggest waste of time, since he’s not exactly learning any additional Spanish these last few weeks of school, but at least it’s better than sitting through math or history. 

“All right!” Schue says to them after just ten minutes. “Practice your conversations.”

Finn turns to the girl who sits across the aisle from him. He knows he should have learned her name by this point in the school year, but it’s one of those names that sounds like three or four other names, and it’s not like they ever talk in English. 

“Lo siento, pero no, uh… tengo cosas a hablar. About.” Finn grins at the girl, who rolls her eyes and rattles off something so fast that he not only doesn’t catch the words, he can’t even be sure it’s Spanish. “Uh? Repito, por favor?”

The girl rolls her eyes again and snorts, then pulls out a magazine and starts reading, which leaves Finn plenty of time to sit around and do nothing. 

A couple of Trilby’s baseball buddies, Furman and Pitner, are somewhere behind Finn, talking in a mix of Spanish and English about Trilby and then Finn hears ‘Hummel’ thrown in as well. He turns in their direction, narrowing his eyes. They don’t seem to notice, though, and keep talking, more and more of the conversation happening in English as they can’t figure out the Spanish word for much of anything. Finn slouches down in his seat and glares at them as the Spanish pretty much gets thrown by the wayside. 

“Damn shame the queer beat one of us, is all I’m saying.” Pitner shakes his head.

Finn stops slouching and sits bolt upright in his chair at that, because that is _not_ cool.

Furman makes a disgusted noise. “Yeah, I wonder just how many dicks Hummel had to suck to get that crown. I don’t care how much practice he’s had at cocksucking, I wouldn’t have voted for him.”

Oh. Oh he did _not_.

“You wanna repeat that?” Finn says, keeping his voice low. 

“Oh, hey, I bet Hudson can tell us about how Hummel does!” Furman laughs. “Did he start with you, or did he save his brother for last?”

Time starts moving in super slow motion, like in that _Inception_ movie, as Finn somehow goes flying over the back of his desk, tackling Furman out of his seat on his way to the floor. Everything snaps back into normal—maybe faster-than-normal—speed, as Furman’s head slams into the floor and Finn’s fist slams into Furman’s face. Furman’s quick, Finn’ll give him that, and his fist catches Finn in the side of the head, sending him sprawling. Finn and Furman are both on their feet, and Finn manages to get Furman in a headlock, alternating between hitting him in the head and kneeing him in the gut, while Furman has one around around Finn’s back, knuckles digging into Finn’s kidney.

Finn flings Furman sideways, knocking over a desk, and then Furman kicks another desk with both feet, shoving it into Finn’s thigh. “Finn! FINN!” Finn can hear Schue shouting, and the hands pulling at the back of Finn’s shirt might be Schue’s, actually. 

“I’m gonna fucking _beat your face in_!” Finn screams at Furman.

“Fucking faggot brother won’t recognize you when I’m done!” Furman screams back. 

“You don’t talk about him!” Finn yells, trying to shrug off whoever is grabbing him. “You don’t even fucking say his name!” He makes another lunge at Furman, and manages to clip his jaw with a fist before he’s yanked back by his shirt.

“FINN!” Schue yells again. “Finn, _calm down_.” There’s a pause. “Furman, out in the hall. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Let go! I’m fine! I’m fine!” Finn says, still trying to pull away from Schue. 

“Like hell you are.” Schue’s hand tightens on Finn’s shoulder. “Let’s go down and take a look at that scrape, and then you know what we have to do, Finn.”

“Fuck,” Finn mutters, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. Just, _fuck_.” Now that the immediate rage has passed, Finn notices that he’s actually shaking. 

“C’mon,” Schue says quietly. “Some words aren’t mitigating circumstances, but family still is.”

 

Kurt doesn’t see his dad when he walks through the open door in bay one, and heads to the back to quickly change clothes and pull on his coveralls. He looks back out into the shop and doesn’t see anything particularly pressing, or Burt, so he heads to the front and then ducks his head in the door to Burt’s tiny office. “Hey, Dad. Want me to pull in one of the thirties from the front lot?’’

“Hmm?” Burt looks up from his desk, an odd expression on his face. “Oh, hi Kurt.”

“Everything okay?”

“There’s, uh, a little bit of trouble with your brother, is all,” Burt sighs. “He got into it with a kid at school.” Burt pauses and then shakes his head. “ _Again._ ”

Kurt stops and closes his eyes briefly, sighing. “What kind of trouble, then? More detention?”

“Not exactly.”

“Wait, he’s okay, isn’t he?”

“Little banged up, but yeah, he’s fine,” Burt says. “Also, suspended for two days.”

“Finn,” Kurt huffs. “Good grief. Baseball player again?”

“Yeah. Good thing for Finn that it happened in Schuester’s class. Figgins wanted to suspend him for a week, which would have meant missing Nationals, but Schuester talked him out of it somehow.”

“In class?” Kurt shakes his head. “How did Finn manage to hear something to set him off in class?”

“I’m not entirely sure. Some sort of class activity that started in Spanish and ended in Finn bodyslamming the guy out of his seat, apparently,” Burt says. “Not entirely sure what happened. Schuester either didn’t have all the details of the precipitating conversation or he chose not to share them.”

“I can guess the general idea,” Kurt sighs. “So, suspended tomorrow and Friday?”

“Yeah. He gets to go back for the partial day on Monday, which means he’s still eligible for school related trips,” Burt says. 

“Well, we’ll have to make sure someone babysits him until we leave, I supposed.” Kurt sighs. “So what do you want me to do here?”

Burt looks at Kurt for a moment and then lowers his eyebrows like he’s thinking something over. “I think you oughta go home and talk to Finn,” he finally says. “Since I think that’s what you actually wanna do right now.”

“I didn’t say that!” Kurt quickly protests. 

“I know you didn’t,” Burt says. “But it’s like I’ve known you for almost nineteen years and can read your face the tiniest bit.”

“Fine,” Kurt concedes. He pushes off the door frame and pauses. “Carole know yet?”

“Haven’t told her yet, no. Finn asked them to call me instead. He didn’t want to upset her.”

“Mmm.” Kurt nods, because he can imagine that’s not the only reason that Finn wanted them to call Burt over Carole. “All right. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you at home, kid,” Burt says. 

Kurt nods and heads back to the rear of the shop, taking off his coveralls and grabbing the rest of his stuff before climbing back in the Nav and heading home. When he gets home, he stops in the hall and listens, then peeks in the kitchen before heading up the stairs. He looks in Finn’s room and shakes his head slightly, then crosses to Finn’s bed without knocking. 

“You _idiot_ ,” he says, but the effect is probably dampened both by his tone and the fact that he lies on his side next to Finn and throws one arm over Finn in a hug. 

“Ow,” Finn says, quietly, but he puts his arm around Kurt and hugs him back. 

“I’ll make you say ow. What were you thinking, darling?” Kurt rests his head lightly on Finn’s shoulder. 

“Uh.” 

Finn sounds guilty, so Kurt nods slowly before speaking again. “Why don’t you just tell me about it?”

Finn takes a deep breath and then exhales loudly. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Well, finding out through the rumor mill wouldn’t make that less of a possibility,” Kurt says dryly. “Why don’t you try me?”

“Couple of those baseball players, the ones that are in my Spanish class. They were, you know. Saying stuff.”

“Saying stuff,” Kurt repeats. “Mmmhmm. What kind of stuff? Because clearly this was worse than before.”

“It wasn’t just the f-word,” Finn says, shifting a little and resting his chin on top of Kurt’s head. “It was other stuff. More, uh, specific stuff. About you.”

“Ah.” Kurt sighs. “That does happen. Though I did think Trilby and his goons would lay off after prom.”

“Well.” Finn exhales loudly again. “Well. They had, uh. Theories. About how you got your votes.” His arm tightens slightly around Kurt. “I’m sorry I got suspended, Kurt.”

“On the positive side,” Kurt says lightly, “you won’t be at school the rest of the week to risk being suspended for Nationals.”

“I’m really really sorry,” Finn says. “I know you told me I couldn’t fix any of that stuff by punching people.”

“No, you can’t,” Kurt agrees, because it’s still true. “But I’m not going to start yelling at you, either.”

‘Ok,” Finn says. “He really did need the shit beat out of him, just, you know. For the record.”

Kurt stifles a laugh. “Duly noted.”

“I think I messed his face up pretty good.”

“Even better that he didn’t mess up yours,” Kurt says lightly. “You can show Puck and I where he got you, later.”

“Ok. I’m mostly fine, though.”

“Of course you are. That’s why you said ‘ow’ earlier.” Kurt shifts, rearranging his top leg over Finn’s legs. “Now we’re going to talk about how we’re relocating rehearsal for the next two days.”

“Whatever you say, bossofme,” Finn says. 

 

Puck’s sense of calm is interrupted a bit by a series of texts from Finn to the entire glee club, all of which are moving rehearsals for the next two days off campus. Thursday during fourth period and lunch at the Hudmels; Thursday after school in the middle of downtown, which is weird; Friday morning in the hospital parking garage, which is even weirder. He’s about to send a text back when he gets a text from Kurt. 

_Rehearsals are moved because my brother is… well he’s something anyway_

_What happened??_ Puck texts back. 

_Suspended 2 days, fight in middle of Spanish w/ Furryman or something_

Puck frowns. Oh, Furman. Right. He shakes his head. Damn. _Bet that’s not going over well_

_Carole’s really letting Finn have it. Finn wouldn’t tell me what the guy said but he’s yelling it at Carole so_

_Bad?_

_Yes_

_Nationals?_

_He can go to class Monday morning so we’re good. Any chance of closing up early today?_

Puck smiles to himself. _I’ll see what I can do_

The truth is, their sales after 7:30 or so in the evening are pretty poor, and Puck knows there’s a few nurses that will come in around 8:10, but once they’ve come and gone, he doesn’t feel bad about finishing up his closing tasks and shutting down early. 

When he gets to Kurt’s, the house is pretty quiet and definitely tense, so Puck grabs a pop as quietly as he can and creeps up the stairs to Kurt’s room. The door’s closed, but he doesn’t knock, just cracks it and slips in. Kurt’s sitting on the bed, half-heartedly looking at a magazine, and Finn’s at Kurt’s computer, looking at… jewelry? On Etsy? Puck shakes his head and closes the door quietly before walking over to Kurt and kissing him. Then he slings his arms around Finn from behind. “Heard you had some excitement today after all, darling.”

Finn startles a little, then leans back slightly. “You’re ‘darlinging’ me now, too? And, I dunno if it was that exciting.”

“Exciting enough, I guess,” Puck shrugs. “And you are our darling, right?” He releases Finn, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“Oh. I am?” Finn scrunches his eyebrows up for a second, then shrugs. “Ok. Yeah. That’s cool.”

“What are you looking for?” Puck asks. 

“I put him to work in my search for Ms. Pillsbury’s thank you gift. Then he’s going to show us his booboos.”

“I am?” Finn asks. “Oh, ok.”

“ _Someone_ needs to know the extent of your injuries. I can’t believe they didn’t send you to the urgent care place at least. What did they do with Furry–whatever his name is?”

Finn shrugs. “I have no idea. I didn’t ask. His face looked pretty bad, I guess.” Finn’s guilty look flickers across his face briefly before he turns back to the computer. 

“He did get suspended too, right?” Puck asks. 

“Yeah, two days for him, too,” Finn says. “As much for the language as anything else. He kept it up in the office, so I guess Figgins didn’t appreciate that. Schue told Figgins I was provoked, too.”

“Guess Schue’s class was about the best you could have hoped for,” Puck acknowledges. 

“Save that one,” Kurt suddenly interrupts. “And then you need to let us look. I bet no one even offered you some ice,” he adds, frowning. 

“Yeah, probably not,” Puck agrees. “I think Figgins thinks it’s a deterrent to future fighting.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Finn says. “Really.” He saves whatever bird motif thing he was looking at, though, and exits Etsy. 

“Stop being stubborn, you know you’re going to give in eventually.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Finn insists. “Just, you know. None of them are that bad, but they’re kind of, uh, widely distributed or whatever.”

Puck shakes his head. “C’mon.”

“Fine,” Finn huffs, but he stands up and raises the hem of his shirt. “Got me in the kidney a couple times,” he says, turning to show them his back. 

Puck winces and Kurt shakes his head. “Ouch is right,” Kurt concedes. “You did take that Advil?”

“Yeah, when you told me to.”

“Good. Well.” Kurt sighs and looks at the bruise again. “Where else?”

“Well, you saw the bump on my head,” Finn says, pointing at the lump on his temple. “So, there’s that.”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Puck points out. “So you have to show that to me in a minute.”

“And what else, Finn?” Kurt says, raising one eyebrow. “Where else, rather?”

“I caught a desk in my leg, but probably it’s fine if you don’t look at that,” Finn says.

Both of Kurt’s eyebrows go up, and Puck has a hard time not laughing, because does Finn _really_ think he’ll get out of it?

“Show us,” Kurt says after a moment.

“But it’s my thigh.”

“And?”

“And my pants leg won’t roll up that high.”

“Well, there’s a simple solution for that,” Kurt says. “I’ll just go get my fabric scissors and we’ll cut right up the inner seam.”

“Dude! You can’t cut up my jeans! It’s hard to find them long enough,” Finn says. 

“What other solution do we have, Finn?”

“I don’t know. Not showing you my bruise, I guess!” Finn says. 

“Or you could just, wait, how were you planning to put on fresh clothes tomorrow? Perhaps by taking them off?” Kurt looks very amused, and Puck’s fighting hard not to laugh out loud. 

“Well. Just… well, _fine_ ,” Finn says. “But it’s really not a big deal, ok? It’s not that bad.” He unfastens his jeans and pushes them down far enough to show the huge bruise blossoming on his thigh. “See? Just a bruise.”

“Just a bruise,” Kurt repeats, then looks at Puck. “Wouldn’t you say that’s a little large to be _just_ a bruise?”

“Yeeaahh,” Puck drags out the word. “Just a bit too large. That’s gotta be killing you.”

“It’s not that bad,” Finn says. “Kidney hurts worse, I think. This one’s fine as long as I don’t poke it or, I dunno, jump around.”

“Well.” Kurt sighs. “All right. Come over here and show Puck the one on your head.”

Finn pulls his jeans back up and zips them, then walks over to edge of the bed. He sits down between Puck and Kurt on the bed and then points to the lump on his head. “See? My bump.”

“Doesn’t look fun,” Puck shrugs, and he’s not quite sure _why_ he thinks to do what he does next. It’s probably a combination of things, Kurt’s hand in his, the spark of something in Kurt’s eye, the way that Finn’s trying to pass all of it off as nothing. Whatever the reason, he leans in and presses his lips gently against the bump. “Better?”

Finn closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. “A little bit.”

“Just a little?” Kurt asks, voice a little lower than before. 

Finn nods his head slightly. “It’s not that bad,” he says again, but his voice is quavery. 

“Oh, well. If you don’t want our help.” Puck looks at Kurt, who nods slowly. 

“Didn’t say that,” Finn says. 

“Yeah?” Puck asks softly, and repeats the same motion, his lips against Finn’s skin just to the side of the actual bump. 

“Yeah,” Finn breathes, with another faint nod. He leans slightly towards Puck, his eyes still closed. 

When Kurt speaks, his voice is muffled, probably against Finn’s skin, too. “What was that earlier? Pretty neck?” There’s a pause and the barely audible sound of Kurt’s lips against Finn’s neck. “No bruises there right now.”

Finn shakes his head, again a tiny movement. “Didn’t hit me in my neck,” he says, his voice quiet. 

Puck moves his mouth slowly down the side of Finn’s face. “Bet no one else knows that.”

Finn shakes his head again. “Nobody else checked.”

“I think they just didn’t notice that one there on your left,” Puck grins against Finn’s cheek, feeling him shake a little.

“Yeah, it could be, uh. Carpet burn or something. From the floor,” Finn says. He tips his head against Puck’s and shortly after, makes a little whimper. 

Puck moves again, his lips hovering just in front of Finn’s. “Mmmhmm,” he breathes, running his tongue along his lower lip. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, then he leans forward, closing the distance between his lips and Puck’s. After a moment, Finn increases the pressure of his mouth on Puck’s, and Puck feels the tip of Finn’s tongue running along his bottom lip and then inside Puck’s mouth. 

Kurt squeezes Puck’s hand, and Puck squeezes back, running his other hand through Finn’s hair and slowly shifting, lips still on Finn’s, until he’s straddling Finn’s lap, pushing his own tongue into Finn’s mouth. He can hear Kurt breathing harshly, then the wet sound of Kurt’s lips reconnecting with some part of Finn’s face or neck. 

Finn wraps his arms around Puck’s waist, one sliding down to his lower back and the other moving up between his shoulder blades, and he pulls Puck tightly against him. Puck shifts until he finds a comfortable position, Finn hard underneath him. He lets more of his weight rest on Finn, Finn’s arms holding him in place. Slowly, Puck pulls his lips away from Finn’s, running them back up Finn’s jawline to nip at Finn’s ear. Finn gasps and his hands tighten on Puck’s back. 

Puck slides his hand out of Finn’s hair and into Kurt’s, tugging Kurt even closer, and he watches with one eye as Kurt’s tongue darts out just ahead of his lips, brushing against Finn’s upper lip. Finn presses his lips against Kurt’s with a soft sigh. Puck pulls Kurt’s head closer to Finn and shifts his weight slightly against Finn. Finn groans into Kurt’s mouth and his fingers dig into Puck’s lower back, and Puck loosens his hold on Kurt’s hair. 

“Finn,” Kurt murmurs. “Beautiful. You like having Puck there, darling?”

Finn nods and whispers, “Yes,” pulling Puck against him again. 

“I like being here,” Puck says, grinning and moving a little. “We’re just taking care of you, right?”

Finn makes a needy noise and then his mouth is on Puck’s again, kissing him hard, with just the hint of teeth against Puck’s lower lip. Puck brings his hand back into Finn’s hair, kissing back just as hard, and he feels Kurt pull on his hand and then slowly push them over until the three of them land on the bed, tangled together with Finn on his back. 

One of Finn’s arms moves away from Puck’s back, and it must go around Kurt, because then Finn has them both pulled against him, alternating between kissing Kurt and kissing Puck. Finn keeps running one of his hands down Puck’s back, then moving it back to his neck and stroking down his back again. On the fifth or sixth stroke down Puck’s back, Finn keeps moving his hand downward over Puck’s ass, squeezing it and pulling him against Finn’s body. 

“Finn?” Kurt says breathlessly. “Finn, darling, do you want us to help you come?”

“Oh, _god_!” Finn says, his voice breaking on the second word and his hand tightening on Puck’s ass. “Yes. Yes. Yesyesyes.”

“Baby?” Kurt says. 

Puck lifts his head to look at Kurt and nods. Together, they each run a hand down Finn’s chest, and Puck unfastens Finn’s jeans before Kurt tugs both Finn’s jeans and his underwear down just enough for them to slide their hands around Finn’s cock. Finn cries out, quietly, like he’s trying so hard not to be loud, and Puck and Kurt move their hands slowly down Finn. 

“Good?” Puck asks, grinning. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Finn says, and he keeps saying it while he’s running his hands down their backs, fingers digging in at random, like he can’t touch them enough. 

Kurt wraps his free hand around Puck’s neck, pulling him into a deep kiss while their hands keep moving, faster and a little tighter, up and down Finn’s cock. Finn’s yeses turn into ‘oh god’ and ‘please’ and ‘Puck’ and ‘Kurt’ and ‘I love you,’ his hands moving to cup the backs of their heads. His other babbling gives way to an almost frantic sounding, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck_!”

“Oh, Finn,” Puck whispers, and Kurt nods. 

“Let us see you come, darling, please.”

Finn cries out again, louder this time, and he comes all over their hands, fingers tightening on the backs of the heads. Finally, his hands relax, sliding back down their backs, but not letting them go. “Oh god,” he whispers, more like he’s talking to himself than to them. 

Slowly, they release him and bend forward, Kurt kissing him first, then Puck, before Kurt slides off the bed to grab a towel, cleaning off their hands and then Finn himself. “Do you want to sleep in here, darling?” Kurt asks Finn. 

Finn nods his head silently, his eyes wide. “Let’s get you under the covers,” Puck says. “Turn off the other lights.”

“Jeans,” Finn says, and he pulls them off and drops them over the side of the bed. “Ok, better.”

“Okay, darling,” Kurt says, and they sit up behind him, both of them with one hand in Finn’s hair. “Go to sleep.”

“Ok,” Finn says, softly. “Love you guys.” His eyes close and it’s only a few minutes before his breathing slows and his body relaxes. 

“I’ll go close his door,” Puck offers quietly. “I mean.”

“Good idea,” Kurt nods, and Puck climbs off the bed and walks quietly down the hall, shutting Finn’s door and making sure no lights are left on and the blinds are shut. 

“Done,” Puck reports, shutting Kurt’s door and locking it for good measure. 

“Thanks, baby.” Kurt smiles and pulls Puck down into a soft kiss. “That was…”

“Different?” Puck suggests wryly. 

“Definitely different.” Kurt runs a hand through Finn’s hair and shrugs. “I feel like we’re, I don’t know. Taking advantage of his emotional turmoil.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs. “I don’t know.” Puck sits back down on the bed and wraps one arm around Kurt, his other hand resting on Finn’s shoulder. “And then there’s the whole aspect of—”

“—what the hell are _we_ doing?” Kurt finishes. “Yes.”

“Well.” Puck shrugs. “I mean, it’s not _wrong_.”

Kurt laughs bitterly. “Oh, you didn’t hear Carole tonight. Apparently part of what Furryman—”

“I think it’s Furman.”

“Furman, then. Apparently he suggested that I won Prom King with my superior blow job skills, except he put it more rudely, and then asked Finn if he was the test subject or the recipient of much practice.” 

Puck whistles. “Yeah, I can see why that set Finn off.”

“Carole started yelling about how inappropriate and indecent that was, and we are brothers.”

“She suggested this was _incest_?” Puck asks incredulously. “I mean, not this–this, because obviously she’d flip and kick us all out onto the street or something, based on what you’re telling me, but. The idea of it even? Burt and Carole got married when you guys were _seventeen_. Hell, if your parents hadn’t had you wait a year for kindergarten, you would’ve only lived with Finn for what, seven or eight _months_?”

Kurt shrugs and nods. “Yes. Well. I have no idea. We’re just— we should have made sure the door was locked. She did say we… Seem a little too comfortable at times.”

“The three of us, or just the two of you?”

“I’m sure she meant the three of us if she stopped to think about it for two seconds.” Kurt sighs. “I don’t really think that changed a great deal after… But we’re all rather.”

“Tactile?” Puck says brightly. “I’ve taught the two of you well.”

Kurt laughs. “Yes. We shouldn’t scale it back too much—she doesn’t know I was listening—but.”

“Mmm. My gay ninja.” Puck laughs and buries his face against Kurt’s neck. “Should we sleep, too?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to do any homework. Were you?” 

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Puck laughs. “How about a shower?”

“Need any help?”

“There are a few hard to reach spots.”

 

Puck stretches, or tries to stretch, when his phone tells him it’s time to go to work, but the bed’s a little more crowded than usual. Finn’s arm is flung across both Kurt and him, and Puck has to maneuver carefully out of the bed so he doesn’t end up rolling out onto the floor. As soon as he stands up, he pulls the sheet back over the other two, and Kurt squints for a second. “Morning already?” he asks.

“Mine, not yours,” Puck answers quietly. “Since Finn’s not going to school…?”

“You should just take the truck?” Kurt says, like he’s not sure about the answer. “I don’t know.” He reaches over and prods at Finn’s shoulder. “Finn. Finn, can Puck take the truck?”

“Hmm?” Finn says, cracking one eye. “’m I still in here? Cool.”

“Yes, you’re still here.” Kurt shakes his head, looking amused in the little bit of light. 

“Can I take the truck? K’s got his AP exam this morning, remember?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Finn says. “Remember it sticks in neutral sometimes and you’ve gotta slam it.” He turns his face back into the mattress and doesn’t say anything else. 

“I think he’s asleep again,” Kurt says after a moment. 

“Probably.” Puck finishes getting dressed and grabs his bags off the floor before leaning back over the bed. “Good luck, not that you need it.”

“Thanks. See you here after.”

“Right.”

Work’s not too bad, and by the time Puck gets to school, he knows Kurt’s already ensconced in the library or wherever doing his AP English thing with Mike and Tina. He doesn’t hear anything said about Finn as he walks through the halls, which makes him wonder if the rumors haven’t made it that far yet. 

Sam’s not in history yet when Puck gets there, but Brittany is. “Hey, Britt.”

“Hello, Puck,” Brittany says. “Are we still rehearsing on all the different surfaces? Is that why we changed?”

“Well, yeah, we are, but no. That’s not why.” Puck sits down and tilts his head towards Finn’s empty seat. “Finn can’t be on school property today or tomorrow.”

“Oh no! Is he allergic?”

“Suspended,” Puck says more quietly. 

“Ceiling or device?” Brittany asks.

“Um.” Puck shakes his head quickly. “No, I mean, Figgins suspended him from school. For fighting.”

“Who was he fighting this time? Was it plaque?”

“Plaque is an ongoing battle.” Puck shrugs. “But, no, this time it was Furman, in the middle of Spanish or something.”

“Did he win?” Brittany asks.

“Well, he said he managed to at least give Furman a black eye, but most of Finn’s bruises aren’t um. Visible.”

Brittany turns her head to the side like a curious bird, then she nods slowly. “It’s good you checked them for him. He could have had internal injuries,” she says. “You’re like a hero.”

“Right. We had to,” Puck nods. “Nurse never does here.”

“Hey guys!” Sam greets them almost jovially. “So what’s up with the rehearsals moving?”

Puck looks at Brittany, because he’s a little curious how she’ll word it, if he’s honest. 

“Finn has invisible injuries because he was suspended from the ceiling and beat up a baseball player,” Brittany says. “The baseball player deserved it.”

Sam chuckles for a minute, then looks at Puck, who shrugs.

“Suspended by Figgins, not from the ceiling, but otherwise, that’s about it.”

“Wow. When’d this happen?”

“Sixth period yesterday?” Puck shrugs. “Schue talked Figgins down to two days so Nationals is fine.”

“That’s good,” Sam exhales. “Geez. What’d the guy say?”

“Uh.” Puck chews on his bottom lip. “You know, you’ll probably hear the rumors sooner or later, ’cause I don’t really want to repeat it.”

 

The first part of fourth period is spent getting everyone over to the Hudmel house, and somehow Puck’s not surprised when Kurt pulls up with Mike and Tina just as Puck’s about to finally walk in. “Done already?”

“Everyone got there by 7:30 like they asked, so they let us start early!” Tina answers. 

“That works.” 

They head into the house, where everyone’s shoved into the kitchen, looking expectantly at Finn. Well, Puck amends, not so much expectantly as hungrily. 

“Why are we rehearsing here today?” Artie asks. “And why is Finn wearing pajamas?”

“It’s not pajamas,” Finn says. “It’s just pajama _pants_. The T-shirt is regular.” He carries on eating the bowl of cereal he’s holding.

“My apologies,” Artie says. “Why is Finn wearing pajama _pants_? And why are we rehearsing here today?”

“Well, it’s hard to rehearse on school grounds when one of us can’t _be_ on school grounds,” Puck answers with a snort. “But I can’t tell you why Finn wears the things he wears. No, wait, I can. Manimals.”

“Like a boss,” Finn says, his mouth full of cereal. 

“Who can’t be on school grounds? Is it Finn?” Quinn asks. 

“Finn’s hand had an unfortunate encounter with Furry— no, that’s not right. _Furman’s_ face.” Kurt shrugs slightly. “So, no, Finn can’t be on school grounds again until Monday.”

“We _leave_ on Monday for Nationals!” Rachel looks like she’s considering hyperventilating. “Does this mean Finn can’t go? And how can we properly rehearse at all of these different venues? We should add a Saturday rehearsal. And Friday night!”

Finn makes eye contact with Kurt and then with Puck, then continues chewing with a small shrug. 

“I’m sure we’ll consider that,” Kurt answers Rachel diplomatically. “For now, though, perhaps we should rehearse in the space we do have?” He gestures towards the backyard. 

 

The afternoon feels like a driving extravaganza. Kurt takes the truck to dual enrollment while Puck uses the Nav to get himself, Mike, and Tina to McKinley, and then does the same to get the three of them over to the rehearsal space for the afternoon. Kurt picks up Finn, who has finally put on real pants, and actually does let Finn drive his own truck, and then they proceed to rehearse. And rehearse. 

Finn declares a mid-rehearsal break around the time Puck thinks they’d normally be wrapping up, but everyone grabs a drink nearby and they keep rehearsing. Puck realizes when his stomach growls what Finn’s doing. 

“Finn’s trying to avoid dinner,” he hisses at Kurt as they dance. 

“I suspected as much.” Kurt sighs. “Unfortunately, the other eleven of us do want food, even if I agree with him that the specific meal at our house seems potentially perilous.”

Kurt finally intervenes twenty minutes later, and they all disperse with calls of ‘see you in the morning’, which makes most of them groan. 

“We could have had a dinner break and then kept going!” Finn protests. 

“Finn.” Puck shakes his head. “C’mon. Maybe you managed to make it so that we have to warm up the leftovers.”

Unfortunately, Puck is wrong, and the five of them sit in a very tense silence through dinner before Puck and Kurt, at least, can make their escape. They try to hang around the kitchen while Finn cleans, but Carole says that’s not much of a punishment and tells them to go upstairs. 

Finn finally escapes the kitchen a good thirty minutes later, and Kurt puts a movie on the laptop, which seems like a perfectly reasonable way to end the day to the three of them. Puck spares a moment to hope Carole doesn’t drop by to scrutinize them: their legs are over and under each other’s, Finn has an arm draped over Kurt and Puck, and Kurt and Puck’s joined hands are resting on Finn’s thigh in a location that Puck does have to admit might be a little high for some people. 

Finn heads to his room after the movie’s over, and just before going to sleep, Puck thinks that at least the week can’t get too more interesting. Then he curses himself for thinking that, because he had that thought on Wednesday, too, and look how well that all turned out. 

They all meet up on Friday morning on the top floor of the parking garage, which is pretty much deserted, and rehearse until it’s time to grab coffee and then all of them but Finn head to school. Kurt sighs as they’re walking in. “Don’t tell Finn this,” he warns Puck quietly, “but I have to admit I was a little jumpier yesterday, and more so today.”

“Yeah.” Puck frowns. “Finn normally is a bit of deterrent at least.”

“Right.” Kurt sighs. “What a mess, baby.”

“It is definitely that,” Puck acknowledges wryly. 

“Be good.”

“I’m always good.” Puck grins and takes the much–longer way to history, passing by most of the sophomore lockers and then Taylor’s locker as well. The good news is that there’s nothing on Taylor’s locker; the bad news is that Mike finds him before he can get to history. 

“Puck, you should come look at this,” Mike says, his voice low, and Puck’s pretty sure Mike’s pissed off. It’s hard to tell, because he doesn’t _get_ pissed off that often. 

“Okay,” Puck agrees, following Mike towards where the senior lockers are. He can see the black scrawls across two of the lockers before he can make out what any of the words say, and even if he didn’t already know they were Kurt and Finn’s, there’s not many side-by-side lockers they could be. 

The words are actually all on Kurt’s locker—‘King of Dicks’—while Finn’s locker just has a bad drawing of what Puck thinks is supposed to be a cock, albeit with what might be a crown floating just above it. 

Puck sighs. “Well, fuck.” He leans against Kurt’s locker, blocking the writing from view. “Guess we should get Beiste to write it up.”

“Yeah, after we saw it, I sent Tina to get her or Ms. Pillsbury. Preferably Coach though.” Mike snorts for a minute and carefully mirrors Puck’s position, leaning against Finn’s locker. “Can you imagine Ms. P’s face?”

Beiste shows up just as the final bell rings, and documents it all before writing both of them a pass for first period and heading off to find the janitor. Mrs. Vey accepts the pass without a word and Puck drops into his seat with a sigh. After a few minutes, Sam turns around. 

“What happened?” he whispers.

“Kurt and Finn’s lockers,” Puck answers.

“Dammit. Those rumors?”

Puck exhales. It had probably been too much to hope for, that no one repeated them. “Yeah. Or I’m guessing, anyway.”

“I would’ve punched the hell out of the guy, too,” Sam admits. “Seems pretty tense in here today.”

Brittany turns in her seat but doesn’t say anything, just gives Puck a sympathetic look. 

“No more punching,” Puck says. “Much as I’d love to, we’re the ones who’d get suspended, or at least suspended _too_.”

“True.” Sam sighs. “Oh well. Next Friday.”

Puck laughs out loud at that, which makes Mrs. Vey look over at them and frown, and Sam turns back towards the front after that. When class is over, Mrs. Vey hands Puck three pieces of paper. “I know you boys are almost done, but if you could pass these along to Mr. Hudson?”

“Sure,” Puck agrees, putting them in his backpack and heading towards physics. The halls are crowded like they usually are, and Puck’s not really looking, so when someone starts to graze against him, he doesn’t think about it, not until a few seconds later when he’s hitting the lockers, hard, accompanied by a mocking voice. 

“God save the queen!”

“What the…” Puck straightens and shakes himself off, not looking around him. He sighs and keeps walking to physics. Kurt looks worn out already, and judging by the look Kurt gives him, Puck doesn’t look any better. 

“You don’t have to go to English any more, right?”

“Right.”

“So we could just go ahead and go, um, get ready for rehearsal?”

“God, yes.”

 

As soon as physics is over, they head towards the parking lot, and when they get back to Kurt’s, Finn’s on the sofa in his underwear, eating ice cream, and watching _Rachael Ray_ , which is weird. “Hello, Finn,” Kurt says, amused. 

“Hey,” Finn says, morosely. “I’ve lost the will to give a fuck. You guys just carry on without me.”

“Right.” Kurt shrugs. “Well, everyone will be here in about an hour.” He pauses. “That looks worse.”

Puck follows Kurt’s line of sight to the bruise on Finn’s thigh and makes a face. “Yeah, ouch. Put something on that?”

“I’ll put pants over it later, and then nobody has to look at it,” Finn says. “How’s school going today?”

“Uh.” Puck exchanges a look with Kurt. “We’re here an hour early?”

Finn’s eyebrows squish together as he frowns. “How bad?”

“Someone decorated my locker for me,” Kurt says, mock–brightly. “Yours too. And someone else decided to slam Puck into a locker. And that’s just us.”

“Shit,” Finn mutters. “Are you hurt?” he asks Puck.

Puck shrugs. “Nah. None of the doors were open, missed the lock.”

“Took it in the shoulder?”

“Yeah. Oh, and whoever it was made sure to make a clever comment.” Puck snorts. “‘God save the queen’.”

Finn almost laughs, then stops himself. “Let me see it.” He nods his head in the direction of Puck’s shoulder. 

Puck rolls his eyes but pulls off his T-shirt and angles his shoulder towards Finn. “Happy?”

Finn rolls his eyes right back at Puck. “Yeah, I’m thrilled. Sit down and let me look at it.”

“Knew that’d come back to bite us,” Puck grumbles, but sits down on the sofa next to Finn, pulling Kurt with him on his other side. 

Finn leans down and peers as Puck’s shoulder. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have to amputate,” he declares finally, then places a soft kiss on the top of Puck’s shoulder. He hesitates for a second, and then he kisses Puck’s shoulder again and lets his mouth rest there a little longer.

“Finn,” Puck says softly, turning his head in Finn’s direction. 

“Sorry,” Finn says, kissing Puck’s shoulder again, a little higher and closer to his collarbone. “I’ll stop.”

“Don’t apologize,” Kurt murmurs. Kurt’s hand runs down Puck’s back and then pulls away, and Puck can almost hear Kurt thinking before he starts moving again. “We have an hour,” Kurt notes, and then he pulls off his own shirt as well before returning his hand to Puck’s back. 

“I can leave you guys alone,” Finn says, but it’s not a very strong statement, since he’s kissing along Puck’s collarbone. “You two can go do your thing. I can stay here with my ice cream.”

Puck looks over at Kurt, and after a moment, Puck responds. “It’s up to you, darling. But you could also let us see what your ice cream tastes like.”

“Yes,” Kurt agrees. “Yes to both of those.”

“We should,” Finn says, moving his mouth to where Puck’s neck and shoulder join. “We shouldn’t be in the living room, probably.”

“Maybe not,” Kurt agrees. “Bedroom?”

Finn nods with his lips still against the side of Puck’s neck. Slowly, the three of them stand up, making their way out of the room and up the stairs, everyone still in contact somehow. Kurt closes his bedroom door behind them and then locks it before the three of them sit on the bed. 

“Finn’s got an advantage over us,” Puck laughs. “Never had to get dressed.”

“Makes daytime TV easier to deal with,” Finn says. 

“Poor darling,” Kurt says, running a hand over both Puck and Finn. 

“I should’ve been there today,” Finn says, kissing Puck on his shoulder again. “I shouldn’t have gotten suspended and I should’ve been there today.”

“So you could see your locker?” Puck snorts. 

“So I could find whoever shoved you and beat the shit out of him,” Finn says. “And see my locker.”

“You didn’t get any words,” Kurt says. “Just a drawing.”

“Did you take a picture?” Finn moves so he’s slightly behind Puck and kisses all along the back of Puck’s neck. 

“I did,” Puck says, tilting his head forward a bit. “Why? You want to see?”

“Yup. Later though?” One of Finn’s arms wraps around Puck’s waist, pulling him back against Finn. 

“Okay,” Puck breathes. He runs one hand along Kurt’s chest and put his other arm behind his head, fumbling a little until he tangles his fingers in Finn’s hair. “Finn.”

“Puck?” Finn answer, his mouth pausing on Puck’s neck.

“You’re a bit of a tease.”

“Huh?” Finn sounds genuinely confused. 

Kurt giggles. “I think he means something along the lines of kiss him already.”

“I am kissing him,” Finn says. “That’s what I was doing.”

“Different location?” Puck suggests. 

“Already been in the living room and the bedroom,” Finn says, only now he sounds like he’s teasing back. “We’re gonna run out of rooms.” He takes Puck’s face in his hand, though, and turns it toward him, kissing along Puck’s jaw and then once, gently, on his lips. 

“We’re game to try for all of them if you are,” Kurt laughs.

Puck grins and changes the position of his one arm, pulling Finn back in for a slightly firmer kiss. “Yeah, what he said.”

Finn smiles against Puck’s lips, then kisses him again, opening his mouth against Puck’s and touching his tongue to Puck’s. Puck tugs on Finn’s hair, changing the angle of Finn’s mouth against his, and runs his tongue along Finn’s and into Finn’s mouth. 

“Darling,” Kurt says, almost tentatively. His hand brushes against Puck’s leg momentarily, and then Finn moans into Puck’s mouth, pressing his lips against Puck’s even harder. Finn’s hand rests on the back of Puck’s neck, his fingers curling and uncurling. “What they’re saying, Finn. I could make that true.”

Puck breaks the kiss. “Fuck, Finn. You should. Yeah.”

Finn looks dazed and he blinks a few times. “You. You want that? To do that?”

“Yes.” Kurt’s response is firmer. “Do you?”

“Is it ok? For me to want that?” Finn sounds uncertain.

Kurt doesn’t answer him directly, his hand sliding over the outline of Finn’s cock. “Has anyone ever done that for you before, Finn? Taken your cock into their mouth?”

Finn shakes his head slowly. “No,” he says, his voice barely audible. 

“I’m going to be right in front of you, on my knees,” Kurt continues, voice low, “and Puck’s going to kiss you, and then I’m going to slide your cock in my mouth, and after a few minutes, you’re going to come in my mouth. Do you want that, darling? Want me sucking you off?”

Finn moans and goes almost boneless against Puck, draping himself across Puck’s back and shoulders. Finn’s “yes” is right by Puck’s ear, probably too quiet to hear otherwise. Puck nods slightly and Kurt does kneel in front of Finn, his hands going to Finn’s underwear and tugging it down. Puck shifts so he’s sitting sideways, one leg and one arm around Finn’s back. 

Kurt murmurs something that Puck can’t quite make out, and then Puck watches as more and more of Finn’s cock disappears into Kurt’s mouth. “Fuck, you two,” Puck says, grinning. “So hot. I bet you taste good, Finn, hot and thick and filling up his mouth. Aren’t you? Just surrounded by that mouth and that tongue.” Puck tilts Finn’s face towards him again and kisses him hard. Finn kisses him back almost desperately, lips and tongue moving against Puck’s, Finn’s hands randomly clutching at and then releasing Puck’s neck and shoulders and arms, wherever he can grab.

Puck tightens his grip on Finn, holding him upright, and Finn starts making low, needy noises into Puck’s mouth as he kisses him. Puck grins and runs his free hand along Finn’s jaw, stroking his thumb repeatedly along Finn’s chin. Finn suddenly arches his back and cries out, his hand tightening on the back of Puck’s neck. He shudders against Puck’s chest before slumping into Puck’s arms. 

“Holy shit,” Finn mutters.

Kurt sits back on his heels, looking smug. “Technically, nothing they said was incorrect. I _do_ suck cock. And quite well.”

Puck laughs. “Yeah, you do. Come up here.” Kurt settles half on Puck’s lap and half on Finn’s, still wearing a pleased smile. 

Finn still looks dazed as he kisses the side of Kurt’s neck. He runs his tongue in a small circle over the artery, then suddenly stops and says, in a low, surprised voice, “I want to touch you.”

“Okay,” Kurt says softly. “If you want to.”

“It’s ok?”

“It’s okay.”

“Then I want to,” Finn says. He pulls Kurt more into his lap, leaning Kurt back against his chest. Finn disentangles his arm from around Puck and wraps both arms around Kurt, sliding his hands slowly down Kurt’s chest. He uses both hands to unbutton and then unzip Kurt’s jeans, then he slides one hand into Kurt’s pants, palming his cock through his underwear. Kurt pushes up into Finn’s hand, one hand splayed against Finn’s thigh and the other resting on Puck’s lap. 

“Still ok?” Finn whispers into Kurt’s ear, as he starts moving his hand on Kurt’s cock. 

“Mmmhmm.” Kurt nods and then leans his head back against Finn’s shoulder. Finn pulls his hand away for a moment and looks over at Puck before pushing Kurt’s underwear out of the way. Puck nods, leaving the arm that’s still around Finn’s shoulders where it is as Kurt closes his eyes and sighs a little, his muscles relaxing. Finn smiles and then carefully wraps his fingers around Kurt’s cock, moving his hand slowly. 

“Is that ok?” Finn asks, quietly.

Kurt giggles. “More than okay.”

Finn’s smile widens and he starts moving his hand with more confidence, murmuring into Kurt’s ear, “You’re so beautiful, Kurt. So beautiful.”

“Mmm. Someone kiss me, I need someone to kiss me.” He pauses for a second. “Puck, kiss me, baby, Finn, keep doing that.”

Puck laughs and leans over, kissing Kurt as instructed, feeling Finn’s other hand coming to rest on the back of Puck’s head. Puck pushes his tongue into Kurt’s mouth, deepening the kiss, feeling Kurt’s body move with Finn’s movements. 

Finn’s hand strokes the back of Puck’s head in time with the hand moving on Kurt, and Puck can hear him continue to talk into Kurt’s ear in a steady stream of words. “You’re both so beautiful. Your mouth felt so good on me, Kurt. That was so fucking amazing. You’re so amazing. You feel so good in my hand.” Finn breaks off the talking long enough to kiss down the side of Kurt’s neck, before he starts talking again. “Your neck tastes so good. I love kissing you. I love touching you. You’re so _hard_ , Kurt.” 

Kurt shudders, moaning into Puck’s mouth and then humming as he comes hard into Finn’s hand. His hand tightens on Puck’s jeans and his entire body goes stiff for a moment before he slumps back against them and slowly pulls his mouth away from Puck’s. “Oh god, you two,” he murmurs. 

“That was ok?” Finn asks. 

Kurt giggles and twists around. “It was very okay, darling.” He presses his lips to Finn’s softly. “Very much okay.”

Puck picks up Finn’s hand and brings it to his mouth, slowly and carefully licking it clean while Kurt keeps giggling and pressing light kisses against Finn’s lips and cheeks and jaw. 

“Oh my god,” Finn breathes. 

Puck grins as he sets Finn’s hand down. “Aren’t you glad you got suspended?”

“Yes,” Finn says. “Yes, I am.” He takes a deep breath and then his eyebrows squish together like he’s troubled. 

“Okay?” Kurt says softly. 

Finn jerks his head in Puck’s direction. 

“Ahh.” Kurt sweeps his eyes over Puck and grins a little. “I think I know what Puck might like. Am I right, baby?”

Puck exhales shakily and nods. “Yeah. Fuck, yes.”

Finn raises his eyebrows questioningly, and looks back and forth between Puck and Kurt. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

Puck puts his lips just against Finn’s ear. “I want you to fuck me, darling.”

A shiver runs down Finn’s body. “Ohhh _fuck_ ,” he says softly, closing his eyes. “Are you _sure_?” 

“Oh, yes. He’s sure,” Kurt answers, picking up Finn’s hand and putting it on top of Puck’s cock. “Do you want to, Finn?”

Finn nods his head. “Yes. Is that… that’s ok?”

“Yes,” Kurt and Puck answer together. Kurt turns his head to smile at Finn, then kisses him not–so–gently, forcing his tongue into Finn’s mouth. Finn kisses back just as fiercely, burying one of his hands in Kurt’s hair. Puck fumbles with his jeans, finally pushing them and his underwear down and off. He leans over to the bedside table and grabs the lube, pressing it into Kurt’s hand. 

Kurt pulls away from Finn slowly and then turns to grin at Puck. “Turn over, baby.” Puck turns over, onto his hands and knees, and closes his eyes as Kurt pushes two fingers inside him. Puck can hear Finn breath out softly, and it feels like he can _feel_ Finn’s gaze on him. 

Kurt moves his fingers in Puck for a brief moment before he removes them, and Puck can hear Kurt putting some of the lube in Finn’s hand. “Touch yourself,” Kurt instructs Finn quietly, “and then push inside him.”

Puck can hear Finn’s breath catch, and then the sound of Finn’s hand on himself before Finn’s cock is nudging at Puck’s entrance. There’s a brief pause before Finn pushes inside Puck slowly, one hand holding Puck’s hip. “Yeah,” Puck says. “Like that.”

When Finn is fully inside Puck, he pauses again, and says “Oh god” quietly. His other hand moves to Puck’s other hip, and then Finn starts moving inside him, slowly at first. “Oh god, Puck.”

“You feel so good, Finn,” Puck says. “You can move faster, if you want to.”

Finn does start moving faster, pulling out further before thrusting in again, his hands tightening on Puck’s hips. Kurt moves closer to both of them, the bed dipping, and then Kurt’s hand wraps around Puck’s cock. “Is he filling you up, baby?” Kurt murmurs. 

“Yess,” Puck hisses. “Stretching me out and filling me up.”

“How does Puck feel, Finn?”

“So fucking good,” Finn says. “God, Puck, so fucking good.”

Kurt’s hand moves faster over Puck’s cock, and then Puck can feel Kurt pressed against his leg and Puck can hear Kurt kissing Finn, his hand never faltering. Finn loses the rhythm for a thrust or two before he recovers, thrusting harder than previously. Kurt’s mouth must move somewhere else on Finn, because Finn starts talking in a low voice in time with his thrusts.

“Oh god, Puck, fuck fuck fuck, so tight, love you, love you,” Finn babbles, slamming into Puck. “Love you, want you to come, oh fuck.”

“Such a good idea,” Kurt says, his hand moving faster on Puck. “Both of you should come now.” Kurt tightens his hand and twists it just enough that Puck does come, crying out as he does so. Finn comes, too, saying Puck’s name and thrusting into him one more time before slumping forward across his back. 

Puck frowns when he hears a noise from downstairs. “What’s that?”

“Something stupid. It’ll go away,” Finn says, his face still pressed against Puck’s back. 

“Oh, fuck.” Kurt sighs. “Our hour’s up.”

“Oh. Oh! Fuck!” Finn sits up, sliding out of Puck. “Fuck! People are here!”

“Shit.” Puck rolls over. “We smell like sex. Also, you two have sex hair.” 

“Puck, go downstairs and get our T-shirts,” Kurt says, hurriedly. “Finn, put on some clothes from the laundry so it looks like you just got up, and use plenty of body spray.” Kurt scrambles to the edge of the bed and looks in the mirror. “And I, um. I have food poisoning. I’ll be down as soon as I can.” He stops and looks at them. “Go! Go!”

Finn grabs his underwear and pulls them on before scrambling out of the room. Puck pulls his jeans back on, leaving the underwear in the floor, and follows Finn out the door. Finn’s standing at the laundry looking panicked, and Puck calls out “Body spray!” as he heads downstairs. 

He grabs his own T-shirt and pulls it on, hides Kurt’s under the couch for the moment, and prays it’s not Mercedes on the other side of the door. He exhales and swings the door open with a pasted–on grin as the doorbell starts to ring again. 

“Mike! Tina! Come in!”

“Uh, hey.” Mike returns the smile, looking at Puck oddly. “Where’s Kurt and Finn?”

“Um. Finn’s um, you know. Around. Being upset about being suspended?”

“Oh, hey guys!” Finn says and he comes tromping down the stairs wearing a pair of rumpled jeans and T-shirt, with a cloud of body spray trailing behind him. “You’re, uh. Early!”

“Well, we didn’t have class third period,” Tina says slowly. “You, um. Seem happier now, Finn.” She and Mike both give Puck a weird look, and he just shrugs, like he can’t imagine why Finn isn’t still upset.

“What? Oh! Yeah! I, uh. Uh.” Finn gives Puck a brief panicked look. “I, uh.”

“Where’s Kurt, did you say?” Mike asks, looking vaguely amused.

“Food poisoning,” Puck and Finn say together, and it sounds way too rehearsed. 

“Right.” Mike starts laughing. “Really? Food poisoning? And Puck, you _reek_.”

“I. Hey!” Puck protests. The doorbell rings again, and Puck glares at Mike and Tina. “ _Food poisoning_.”

“But I put on the body spray,” Finn whispers to Puck. “Just like Kurt said. Why’s he looking at us like that?” Finn leans over and sniffs Puck. “He’s right, though. You totally do.”

Puck smirks. “And whose fault is that?” he whispers back. 

“Uh. Mine?” 

Puck laughs for a second. “Yeah. You’d better believe it’s your fault.”

Finn grins. “Sorry?”

“Well, if you hadn’t fucked me so hard,” Puck hisses, “maybe I wouldn’t smell so strong.”

“If you weren’t so hot, maybe I wouldn’t have fucked you so hard,” Finn hisses back, then turns bright red. 

Puck grins and licks his lips, looking over at Mike and Tina, who look entirely too interested, even if Puck’s pretty sure they can’t hear. He decides to open the door before they really get themselves into trouble. “Rachel. So nice to see you.”

“Noah, you weren’t in English class today!” Mike and Tina start laughing at that point. “And Finn! Why is your face so red?”

“Uh.” Finn looks over at Puck and starts snickering. “Food poisoning? No, wait, that’s Kurt.”

Puck keeps his face straight, barely. “Maybe it’s spreading.”

“Contagious food poisoning,” Finn says, nodding. “I caught it from Kurt.”

“Well, of course, everyone in the household would be affected,” Rachel says, nodding. “I do hope it doesn’t negatively impact your mother and her… Pretzel.”

“Can you catch food poisoning?” Finn whispers to Puck as Rachel walks into the living room. “I’m pretty sure you can’t.”

Puck shakes his head, and Kurt comes down the stairs as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” Kurt says. “Baby, you should go use a washcloth or something. You’re fragrant,” Kurt says quietly. 

“So I’ve heard,” Puck snorts. “Miraculous recovery from food poisoning?”

“Better out than in.”

The doorbell rings again, and Puck remembers that they’re supposed to be letting people in. He slips into the bathroom off the kitchen as Kurt opens the door, and Puck can hear Sam, Mercedes, and Artie all coming into the house. 

By the time Puck attempts to make himself smell a little less like sex and goes into the living room, everyone else is there, and Sam is looking at Kurt and Finn incredulously. “See?” Sam turns to look at Puck. “Look at Puck’s grin. I’m telling you. They’re high.”

“What? We’re _not_!” Finn insists. “I told you. Seriously, dude. Not high.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam shakes his head. “If you don’t want to tell us, fine.”

“Perhaps we should just rehearse now?” Kurt suggests. “I’m quite sure we’d have difficulty rehearsing if we were in fact high.”

“Or if you did in fact have food poisoning,” Mike says, face perfectly straight. 

“Well, just, uh. Go light on the dancing,” Finn says. “Because of Kurt’s food poisoning. And my food poisoning.” He looks over at Puck and is obviously fighting a grin. “And maybe Puck’s food poisoning, too.”

“Never should have shared that, uh, breakfast,” Puck nods. “Never know when someone’s tampered with it.” Puck has no idea if what he just said even made any sense, and considering the look Finn shoots him, it probably didn’t. 

Rehearsal isn’t the most focused that they’ve ever been, and Puck knows it’s the three of them that are causing it. Finn doesn’t seem to particularly care, either, and once they’ve gotten a decent run-through, Finn announces that it’s time for everyone to leave, because his food poisoning is coming back. 

Mike and Tina give them funny looks and start laughing as they leave, and the rest of them follow. Puck’s still leaning against the railing on the deck outside when Finn comes back out and leans next to him.

“You don’t smell as awesome any more,” Finn says.

“Don’t have time to fix that,” Puck answers. 

“Sadly true.” Kurt hops down from where he was sitting on the railing and stands on the other side of Puck. “On both counts.”

“You sure you have to go to class?” Finn asks. “You could stay here and help me eat the rest of the ice cream.”

“We’re missing next week,” Puck replies regretfully. “As good as your um. Ice cream. Sounds.”

“Do you guys have to go right away?”

“In just a few minutes,” Kurt says, resting his head on Puck’s shoulder and reaching across Puck to take Finn’s hand. “We have to grab something to eat, too.”

“Ok,” Finn says. “A few minutes, huh?”

“Yeah.” Puck tilts his head over onto Finn’s shoulder, which probably makes them look like some kind of strange dominoes. “Want us to give you a ride to rehearsal?”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Finn says. He tips his head over to rest against the top of Puck’s, and he sighs. “There’s not even anything good on TV this time of day.”

“Movie?” Kurt suggests. “Something funny.”

Finn shrugs. “Maybe I’ll make another experimental snack instead. I could bake something.”

“Don’t forget the hot pad, darling,” Puck says. “Please.”

 

“What’s Finn got in his lap?” Puck asks when they get back after dual enrollment. 

“A pan?” Kurt shrugs. “I have no idea.” He pulls up next to the curb and unlocks the door, rolling down the windows a little more now that they’re off Harding. Finn stands up with his pan and walks to the Nav. As he gets closer, Puck notices a smear of chocolate across Finn’s face, and what might be flour in his hair; he looks a bit like he had a food fight with himself. 

“Hi!” Finn says, as he climbs into the back seat. 

“What on earth did you do to yourself, darling?” Kurt asks, shaking his head slightly. 

“And what is that?”

“It’s brownies. I baked!” Finn holds out the pan to show off his drippy–looking brownies. “And look, see? Hot pad.” He tips the pan a little to show the hot pad underneath it, and the goopy center of the brownies slowly slides towards the edge of the pan. 

“Are they not done?” Puck asks, because he can’t figure out why they are so liquidy in the center. 

“I think the chocolate chips all slid to the middle,” Finn says. “They all melted, so now it’s sort of brownies with a chocolate lake in the middle.”

“Oh.” Puck shrugs. “Okay. Hand me one before we tell you about what we heard.”

“You might just want to eat them straight out of the pan,” Finn says. “They aren’t to share, anyway. They’re just for you guys.”

“Well, then hand me the pan. And lean forward.”

Finn leans forward as he hands Puck the pan. Puck slides his thumb along the chocolate still smeared on Finn’s cheek and then licks it off his thumb. “Thanks.”

Finn grins at Puck and sits back in his seat. “So, what’d you hear?”

Puck frowns a little and Kurt grimaces. “There apparently was a fight at McKinley this afternoon,” Kurt answers. “Bad enough to call the cops.”

“Oh, shit!” Finn says. “Baseball players? Is everybody ok? Are all of _our_ people ok?”

“No, it was Jojo and Fordham,” Puck says. “Fordham got hauled off. He’s out of there for good. Jojo’s out for at least the rest of the year.” He sighs. “It was Rick, Casey, and Taylor.”

“Oh, _shit_! Are they ok? Shit!”

“I think they’re banged up,” Kurt says. “Apparently Coach Beiste called David? No one had to go to the hospital or anything.”

“Did Karofsky freak the fuck out?” Finn asks, his eyes wide. “Is he gonna kill somebody? Holy shit, this is, like, _bad_!”

“There’s a trash can that’s never going to be the same,” Puck admits. “Luckily for Fordham and Jojo, they’re not on campus anymore. I wouldn’t want to be Figgins and say the wrong thing to Karofsky, though.”

“Well, shit,” Finn says. “I hope he doesn’t punch Figgins.”

“That probably wouldn’t be the best outcome, no,” Kurt agrees. “But I suspect everyone will be talking about this at the beginning of rehearsal.”

“I’m gone for two days, and everything just goes to hell,” Finn says. “What is wrong with that place?”

“A question I’ve been asking for quite some time without any satisfactory answer,” Kurt says dryly. “I still can’t decide if I should feel guilty or elated for missing next week.”

“Both?” Puck suggests. “Elatedly guilty? Guiltily elated?”

“I’d be happy if we never had to go back at all,” Finn says. 

“There is that,” Puck snorts as Kurt turns into the lot at the park. “Also, I think we’ll have thoroughly used our tax-payer funded resources this week.”

“I like it,” Finn says. “It’s like field trips. Like a field trip tour of Lima.”

“We could go out to the Lima Correctional Institution,” Kurt suggests. “We promise to hold your hands when you get scared.”

“You know, we could probably skip this rehearsal and go there now,” Finn says. “I think we’re all pretty prepared.”

Kurt grins and Puck laughs. “Too late,” Puck answers, pointing towards where Mike and Tina are sitting on the trunk of Tina’s car. “We’ve been spotted.”

Finn reaches up and scoops up a handful of brownie from the pan before he opens the door of the Nav. “Too bad. I’d have let you hold my hands, too.”

“Just your hands?” Puck says, smirking, and grabs a brownie of his own. 

“Nope. Not just my hands,” Finn says, with a big grin. 

“And now we’re supposed to go rehearse?” Kurt asks. 

“Make sure you get some brownie. It’s probably going to melt while we’re rehearsing, anyway,” Finn says. “The middle’s mostly chocolate chips.”

“We can put it over ice cream when we get home,” Puck says. “Actual ice cream. We should get out of the car now.”

“Probably so,” Kurt sighs. “Probably so.”

Everyone else arrives at the park a few minutes later, the people who came from straight from McKinley looking a little more tense than Mike and Tina. Finn and Kurt exchange a glance. “Why don’t you ask Mike to come over here to discuss, uh. The rehearsal?” Kurt suggests.

Finn looks over at Tina again. “Yeah, that’s a smart plan. Hang on.” Finn calls out, “Hey, Mike, I need you for a minute.”

“Sure!” Mike hops off Tina’s car and jogs over to them. “What’s up?”

“So, uh, apparently something happened at school today,” Finn says, lowering his voice and turning so his back is to Tina. “There was a fight. Fordham and Jojo went after Casey, Rick, and Taylor.”

“Shit.” Mike looks over at Tina. “How bad?” he asks, looking back at the three of them.

“What we heard was they arrested Fordham, but no ambulances or anything,” Puck answers. 

“Did Coach tell Karofsky anything when he talked to her? About how bad any of them were hurt?” Finn asks Puck. 

“Well, Karofsky said Casey was roughed up a little? But who knows if that’s Coach’s definition or Karofsky’s.” Puck sighs. “There wasn’t any. You know.”

“Broken bones?” Finn asks. 

“Uh.” Puck looks at Kurt. 

“Other kinds of assault, Finn,” Kurt says quietly. 

“Ah. Yeah. Like we talked about before.” Finn scowls. “Well, that’s good at least.”

“Right.” Mike exhales loudly. “Tina’s going to be… Shit.”

“Well, that’s why we told you first,” Finn says. “Maybe you can figure out a way to let her know without her totally freaking out?”

“I know I can do better than if—” Mike cuts himself off and looks across the lot. “Yeah, I’m going to go do that now.” Mike jogs back over to Tina, a little faster than before, clearly trying to reach her before any of the other girls start to tell her. 

Finn looks miserable. “Are you sure we can’t just go home?”

“Are you sure we can’t just _leave_ ,” Kurt counters. “This town, boys. This town.”

“We could probably make it to the Canadian border before anybody noticed we were gone,” Finn says. “We could stop and get milkshakes on the way.”

“Roadtrip essentials,” Puck nods. 

“We could hit the casinos. I bet I’d kick ass at blackjack.”

Puck looks over at Mike and Tina, and Tina’s leaning against Mike’s chest, shaking just enough that Puck guesses she’s crying. Everyone’s standing in little clumps, and Puck looks back at Finn. “We should at least try to do this, dude.”

“Ok,” Finn sighs, “but we’re keeping it short. I think everybody’s had a long day.”

“Understatement,” Kurt sighs. 

Rehearsal doesn’t go horribly, but it’s not their best rehearsal, either, and once they’ve managed one halfway–decent run-through of the entire set, everyone disperses for the evening. 

When they get back, Burt and Carole are both in the kitchen, looking a little dumbfounded, and Puck can sort of understand why. 

“Finn?” Carole says. 

“Yeah, I didn’t have enough time to clean that up before rehearsal,” Finn says. “Sorry. I’ll do it now.”

“But how’d it get on the ceiling?” Burt asks, staring up like he’s mystified.

“I think I turned the beaters up too high,” Finn says. “It sort of went everywhere.”

“What exactly _is_ it?” Carole asks.

“I made brownies,” Finn explains, looking pleased with himself. “From scratch.”

“But… why?” Burt asks. “We have a box of mix in the pantry.”

“I was bored and sometimes people like to eat chocolate when they’re bored,” Finn says. “They were good. A little goopy in the middle. I think I put in too many chocolate chips or something. Or I didn’t stir them in enough.”

“Carole, will you give the kid his laptop back, please?” Burt says. “Before he ends up setting the house on fire?”

“The brownies weren’t even burnt!” Puck points out. 

“Nor did he burn himself,” Kurt adds, sounding a little petulant. 

“See? I can cook just fine,” Finn says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, can I have one?” Carole asks with a smile. 

“No,” Finn says, flatly, not uncrossing his arms. “They’re gone. I made them for Puck and Kurt, and we ate them all.” He lifts his chin up and a little to the side, staring at Carole defiantly. 

Carole’s smile falters a little and she deflates a bit. Burt frowns at Finn, then says, “Fine, don’t give him back his laptop, then. Finn, get this mess cleaned up.”

Puck exchanges a look with Kurt, who shrugs and pulls him just inside the living room as he pulls out his phone. “Luckily I was going to ‘cook’ take-out anyway. Thai sound good, baby?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” Puck agrees. They wait a few minutes and then walk back into the kitchen, where Finn is standing on a kitchen chair, scrubbing brownie batter off the ceiling. 

“Would you like some help?” Kurt asks. 

“If you want to,” Finn says. “It’s my mess and I should’ve cleaned it up before rehearsal. I just didn’t have enough time.” 

“It just seems like the more quickly it’s cleaned up, the more time there is for other things.” Kurt shrugs. “Thai food’s on its way, by the way.”

“Sweet!” Finn says. “Did you get me the—”

“Spicy, extra meat? Yes.”

“I love you guys!” 

“Always knew that was the way to a man’s heart,” Puck quips. “Spicy Thai food.”

“Yeah, well, I’m easy like that,” Finn says. “Now watch out so I don’t fall on you while I’m climbing down.” 

“Why _did_ you use a chair? You’re already almost tall enough,” Kurt asks. 

“I couldn’t quite reach and mom’s already pissed enough,” Finn says. “If I didn’t get it all off, I figured she’d be even madder.”

“Or burst into tears.” Puck shrugs. “Either one seems likely at this point.”

“Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, she’s just gonna be pissed at me anyway,” Finn says, stepping down off the chair. “I know I shouldn’t have punched that guy, but seriously. It’s like it’s my fault he said the shit that he said, and she’s mad at _me_ about it.”

“The good news is, she and Dad are going to Columbus on Sunday.”

“That baby expo thing, right?” Finn shakes his head. “I don’t know what else kind of baby stuff they could need, and anyway, she was yelling at me yesterday that she can’t trust me enough to leave me alone, and how I’m ruining her baby expo.”

“She _does_ realize that you’re eighteen? Going off to college? Not going to have random assholes waltz into the house and start trash talking?” Puck asks. “Does she have some kind of pregnancy–induced personality disorder?”

“I think she’s just afraid that UW’s gonna change their mind and not let me go there, and I’m gonna live here with her and Burt forever.”

“If that happens, we’ll kidnap you,” Kurt says. “Okay?”

“I can sleep in your shower in your tiny, tiny apartment,” Finn says. “I’ll get a sleeping bag and sleep standing up.”

“We could take a series of pictures of that,” Puck says. “One every night. We’ll make a blog of them and become famous.”

“I could sleep in different stuff, like hats or costumes,” Finn says. “Or naked. Or upside down like a bat.”

“The blog will need a catchy title.” The corner of Kurt’s mouth twitches, but he keeps an impressively straight face.

“‘Dude in my shower dot com’,” Finn says. “Or maybe ‘Finn in a sack dot com’.”

“The first one, definitely,” Puck nods. “It makes people curious. Or it would me, anyway.”

There’s the sound of feet on the stairs, and then Carole appears in the doorway. “I hope you two aren’t helping him.”

“They’re just trying to find ways to make money off me,” Finn says. “That’s all. Promise.”

“It’s true,” Kurt nods. “We’ve got at least one contender so far.”

Carole frowns and looks confused, then shrugs and wanders off to the living room. “Oh, Kurt,” she calls back, “did you remember the mushu pork?”

“Thai, not Chinese,” Kurt calls back, voice perfectly neutral, but he smirks a little at Puck. 

“Oh.” Carole sounds disappointed. “Well, all right.”

Carole and Burt both look rather disappointed with what Kurt orders for dinner, actually, though Burt’s is probably because Kurt picked something off the vegan menu for him. 

“This is so good,” Finn says. “Thanks, Kurt!” He’s clearly trying not to smile, looking to his left while he ducks his head a little to the right.

“You’re welcome,” Kurt says pleasantly. “Dad, Carole, I hope you’re enjoying yours?”

“This is just vegetables, you said?” Burt asks, poking at his curry. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent heart healthy!” Kurt responds, which isn’t really an answer at all, and Puck has to take a bite of his own food not to laugh. It’s pretty much chock-full of tofu, if the Thai Jasmin guys followed Kurt’s directions.

“I think those are just mushrooms,” Finn says. 

“They aren’t even surprising,” Puck says, nodding.

“Yeah, pretty much just plain old predictable mushrooms,” Finn says. “That’s the worst kind. I like the surprise ones better.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.” Puck and Kurt look at each other and smirk slightly, turning back to their food before Carole or Burt can ask why they’re smirking. 

“I don’t think these are mushrooms,” Burt grumbles. 

Kurt shrugs. “I’m sure it’s just a different kind than usual, Dad. What else could they be?”

Finn makes his strangled noise and takes another bite of his food. “Well, boys,” Carole says, giving Finn an odd look, “what did you have planned for the evening?”

“Well, we thought we’d watch a movie,” Kurt says, a little too sweetly still. 

“Oh? What movie?”

“ _Brokeback Mountain_. We were going to watch it tomorrow for movie night, but I think we need something less intense for the whole group.”

Finn makes his strangled noise _again_ and then starts to cough. Carole looks over at him and shakes her head, her facial expression somewhere between ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘serves you right’, which is an odd combination. 

“Kurt, are you sure you want to subject your brother to that movie?” Burt says. “I mean, look at him. He’s gonna choke to death or something.”

Kurt narrows his eyes a little and his eyes flick to Burt’s food for a split second. “He was going to watch it tomorrow night as it was,” he says, and Puck is glad _he_ isn’t the recipient of that tone. 

Finn’s still coughing a little, but he holds his fist in the air and says, “Taking one for the team. Solidarity.”

Burt looks at Kurt, then at Finn, and then back down at his food. “Yeah, I’m still not sure those are mushrooms,” he says. 

Kurt smirks slightly. “I have no idea what you mean, Dad.”

Dinner ‘clean up’ is easy, and then the three of them take over the sofa and Kurt puts on the movie, leaning against Puck’s side after he sits back down. “We’re subjecting you to this,” Kurt whispers across Puck to Finn. “Do you feel like you’re in danger of choking to death?”

“It’s totally possible,” Finn whispers back. “That’s why I’m not gonna put anything in my mouth while I watch this movie. Don’t want to choke.”

“Good plan,” Kurt giggles. 

Puck wraps one arm around Kurt’s shoulders and snorts. “Yeah, we’d hate to have to do the Heimlich.”

Finn’s sitting about six or seven inches away from Puck on the sofa, his feet propped on the coffee table and his palms flat against his thighs like he’s making a conscious effort to keep them there. Everything about his body language is a little too stiff and awkward. Puck sort of gets it, though, because his free hand keeps twitching and his fingers are tapping randomly. Kurt’s not moving, but his muscles are kind of tense under Puck’s arm, and Puck thinks they’d be a lot happier if Carole and Burt weren’t in the house. 

They’re not very far into the movie, though, when Finn just sort of relaxes like he’s forgotten he’s supposed to be tense, and his arm goes across the back of the sofa behind Puck’s head. Not too long after that, Finn starts absently playing with the hair at the nape of Kurt’s neck, and the six or seven inches between Finn and Puck shrinks to more like one or two. 

“Hi, darling,” Kurt says softly, sounding amused. He stretches his neck into Finn’s touch slightly. 

“Hey,” Finn answers, his voice also low. 

“I really like my seat,” Puck says, grinning. 

Kurt giggles. “Mmmhmm. I would, too.”

“Everybody wants your seat, Puck,” Finn says. 

“It’s a good seat.” Puck tightens his arm around Kurt and puts his other hand on Finn’s thigh lightly. Finn shifts a little and then there’s _no_ space between Finn and Puck. The movie keeps going and Puck snorts. “I’m still not sure they used enough spit.”

Finn turns and gives Puck a dubious look and shakes his head a little before turning back to the movie. He continues playing with Kurt’s hair and leans a little closer to Puck. 

“I doubt they had technical advisers,” Kurt murmurs. 

Finn takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before he says, his voice quiet, “You could fuck me again. If you wanted to.”

“Finn,” Kurt hisses. “You can’t— you can’t say that while our parents are upstairs!”

“Sorry,” Finn whispers. His fingers stop moving on Kurt’s neck and he sinks a little lower onto the sofa. 

“I think he means you should make sure your invitations are possible soon after offering them,” Puck chuckles. 

“Oh,” Finn says, and his fingers start twining in Kurt’s hair again. After a moment, he says, “I could be very quiet.”

Kurt giggles and Puck grins. “Should I be insulted?” Kurt asks. “I’d hope not.”

“I could _try_ to be very quiet.”

Puck shakes his head and listens for a second before leaning over and pressing his lips against Finn’s. “Wouldn’t you rather be able to be loud, darling?” he whispers.

“Probably,” Finn sighs. “That was pretty quiet, though.”

“What was?” Puck asks. “This?” He kisses Finn again, longer this time. 

“Mmm. Yes.” This time, Finn kisses Puck, running his tongue along Puck’s lower lip with the tiniest amount of pressure at first, but then crushing Puck’s mouth against his, tongue pushing inside. Finn’s arms wrap around Puck’s waist and he hauls Puck into his lap, hands moving frantically over Puck’s back, shoulders, and the back of his head. Puck swings one leg over Finn and settles into place. 

Puck meets Finn’s tongue with his own, and then shifts, pushing down against Finn and grinning against Finn’s lips when Finn’s cock presses against him. Finn pulls Puck against him harder, arching up off the sofa a little at the same time. Puck shifts again, dragging against Finn, and moves his lips to Finn’s ear. “Finn. You fucked me earlier today.”

Finn moans quietly and murmurs, “Yeah I did.”

“You fucked me so good, darling,” Puck continues, still whispering. 

“I could do it again _right now_ ,” Finn almost pants. 

“Yeah, you could,” Puck agrees. “You’d like that? Pushing up inside me?”

“Yes,” Finn says. “Fuck, help me get your pants off!” He starts fumbling with Puck’s jeans. 

“Living room,” Kurt hisses. “Oh, god, you two.” Puck can feel one of Kurt’s hands on his back. “We’re in the living room.” Even as he finishes speaking, though, he’s leaning forward, his other hand wrapped around the back of Finn’s head, pulling Finn down to kiss him. One of Finn’s arms moves around Kurt’s body, but the other hand stays hooked in the front of Puck’s jeans, thumb still working on the button. While Kurt is still kissing Finn, Puck pulls the neck of Finn’s T-shirt to the side, nipping at Finn’s collarbone. 

Carole’s voice is out of place, but it doesn’t hit Puck how out of place it is at first. “So, boys, how’s the mo—” Her voice cuts off midword. “Oh my _god_ ,” she says quietly, her voice shaking. 

Finn pulls his mouth off Kurt’s and says, “Oh, _fuck_.” While he’s speaking, Puck does his best to slide back onto the sofa next to Kurt, grabbing at Kurt’s hand. Kurt’s wild-eyed, looking from Finn to Carole and back again before staring at Puck. Finn just keeps repeating, “Oh, fuck.”

“What,” Carole begins, her voice still shaking, “were you three _doing_?”

“Nothing!” Finn says. 

Carole steps a little closer, her voice still low, and Puck’s starting to wonder if she’s going to call for Burt or not. “That was not _nothing_ , Finn Hudson.”

“I… I…” Finn is breathing hard, and his eyes dart between Carole and Puck and Kurt. “I… it’s just…” His eyes are shiny and his breath is starting to catch with each inhalation. “Mom, I just…”

“How could you do this, Finn? To your brother and his boyfriend?” Carole looks madder than Puck can remember seeing her in a long time. “To their relationship?” Puck exchanges a confused look with Kurt, because it’s not exactly like their relationship had anything happen to it. Or that Finn somehow forced them into it, which seems to be what Carole thinks. 

“Mom,” Finn says, though almost no sound comes out. He looks like he’s going to start crying or something any minute now. 

“Is this— is this why that boy said those things to you, Finn? Is this why you fought with him and got suspended?”

“Mom,” Finn says again, in a tiny voice. “Mommy.” He takes rapid, hitching breaths, and sounds like he’s barely keeping himself together. 

Puck clutches at Kurt’s hand, because he has no idea what else to do. They can’t move, they can’t interrupt, they’re just stuck listening to Carole rage and Finn disintegrate. 

“Is this why you broke up with Rachel? And haven’t dated anyone since then? Is it because you were doing this?”

Now Finn does have tears rolling down his face. “Mommy,” he whispers, barely shaking his head. “No. No.”

“There are plenty of girls in this town that would be happy to date you, Finn! You don’t need to butt in on their relationship!”

“I’m sorry, mom, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Finn’s voice breaks and he’s crying pretty hard now. 

Carole takes a deep breath. “I think you should go to your room now, Finn, and get some sleep. I’ll speak with you more in the morning.” She looks over at Kurt and Puck for the first time. “I won’t be telling your father about this.”

Finn stands up without looking at them, and walks slowly up the stairs. They can hear his door shut behind him. Carole sighs and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, boys,” she says, and she sounds sincere in her apology, anyway. She leaves the room and heads back up the stairs, and Puck turns to Kurt.

“Sorry for _what_?”

“I have no idea.” Kurt slides his arms around Puck and rests his head on Puck’s shoulder. Puck lets his head fall to the side, on top of Kurt’s head. “I have no fucking clue.”

“I never thought…” Puck trails off. “I’ve known both of them since I was seven. I never would have expected that.”

“No, me either,” Kurt admits. “Poor Finn.” Kurt exhales shakily. “What do we do, baby?”

“I don’t know. Can we do anything?” Puck turns his head and kisses the top of Kurt’s. “I just— it feels like we should go up there or something.”

“And yet we can’t,” Kurt finishes. “We can’t do a single fucking thing.”

On the screen, _Brokeback Mountain_ is still playing. Jack and Ennis are up on Brokeback, and Ennis is talking to Jack. “You ever get the feelin’, I dunno, when you’re in town and someone looks at you suspicious, like he knows. Then you go out on the pavement and everyone’s looking at you like they all know, too.”

“Nope,” Puck agrees sadly. “Not a damn thing.”


End file.
